
nnnnnnnnnnnnfl 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



REBECCA'S JOURNAL; 



OR, 



HOW WE MADE THE 



Winter Beautiful 



Z- 



BY MRS. MARY LANSING. 




OF COA/^-. 



Wash: 



tAG-^: 



PHILADELPHIA : 

McCali.a & Stavely, Printers, Nos. 237-9 Dock Street. 

1876. 



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Entered According to Act of Congress, 1876, by 

MRS. MARY LANSING, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



REBECCA'S JOURNAL; 

OR, 
HOW WE MADE THE WINTER BEAUTIFUL. 



BY MRS. MARY LANSING. 



" The purpose for which I write, is that I may show that we ought to value little joys more than great 
ones; the night-s?own more than the dress-coat; that PJutus' heaps are worth less than his handfuls ; the 
plum than tiie penny for a rainy day, and that not great, but little good-haps can make us happy. That 
we may find refreshment in all thintcs, in the warmth of our rooms, and of our night-caps ; in our pillows; 
in mere Apostles day, and in the evening moral tale of wives."— Jean Paul Richter. 



Chapter I. 

HALLOW-EVE AND ELF-LAND. 

October 21. Yesterday was one of the 
most disenchanted days of my life, but 
on looking out this morning, all nature 
was so bright and smiling, I said, a la 
Eugenie deGuer in ^ "It is impossible but 
that something pleasant must happen to- 
day," and here comes this letter, in 
sweetest harmony with the mellow Octo- 
ber glory. 

Banks of the Kanawha, 

West Virginia. 

Dear Cotjsin Rebecca: Harry goes 
to Brooklyn, most unexpectedly this even- 
ing. Return with him, we pray I We 
will gather together all our hearts can 
prompt, and power execute to make you 
happy. Our beautiful country house is 
just finished, and Titania could not have 



chosen a more beautiful dell in w^hich to 
drop it. The Kanawha winding by our 
door ; the blue mountains in the dis- 
tance, and the nearer hill-sides bathed in 
amethyst. Harry is busy superintending 
the mining interests most of the day, 
while we amuse ourselves with books and 
papers and magazines, of which we have 
abundant store, and in drawing, paint- 
ing, writing, riding, boating, rambling, 
scrambling, and tongue-races, and dainty 
bits of work of both the useful and orna- 
mental sort, &c., &c., &c. All the house- 
hold say, " If Rebecca were but here, our 
cup of contentment would be full, " It is 
sweeter even than our home upon the 
Hudson in the olden time. Gomel come! 
come! You need no preparation. We 
live so entirely a la Diogene, there is no 
need of variety of apparel, or for its being 
a la mode. Come, darling, come. 
Ever devotedly, in greatest haste, 

Kate Montgomery. 



October 30. After a pleasant journey, 
good Cousin Harry and myself reached 
this home, nestled down on the bank of 
the Kanawha, and received sweetest wel- 
come. The house was alight from garret 
to basement, and sent out streams of 
beckoning invitation. Far away we saw 
the beacon lights, and felt them steal 
into our hearts like warmth and cheer. 
Plainly as uttered words they said, 
"They are coming I coming I coming I 
We are watching ! watching I watch- 
ing I For there are no other footfalls, 
wake such music in our halls, bo we've 
lighted every taper, that away through 
the night-vapor, they may read the glow- 
ing story in these golden rays of glory." 
As we neared the approach, a chorus of 
dear, familiar voices reached us, chaunt- 
ing in glad accord, " Welcome! welcomel 
welcome!" and we seemed borne on the 
wings of sound to the door, where the 
dear ones clapped their hands, jumped 
up and down in childish fashion, and 
danced for joy. Yery merry was the 
supper, one spicy jest seemed to " tip 
the wink of invitation " to another, and 
stories of old friends and homes passed 
from lip to lip. The weariness of the 
long journey was forgotten, as we burn- 
ed the " midnight oil " together. 

Yerily have they chosen a lovely spot 
whereon to set up their tabernacle. A 
sense of coming rest and refreshment is 
borne to me on every breeze, — of sweet 
repose and quiet, as if we had come away 



from the great Babel, to be soothed in 
the kind arms of dear Mother Nature. 

My room is dainty enough for a sylph, 
with its soft, flowing, muslin curtains, 
looped with rose colored ribbons. A car- 
pet of white ground, with bunches of 
delicate flowers sprinkled in graceful pro- 
fusion everywhere. Walls tinted couleur 
de rose, and the tasteful little appoint- 
ments made by loving hands of the same 
sweet hue. 

From the window where I write, thou 
see'st, dear Familiar, the gliding water, 
the glorious mountains, fleecy clouds float- 
ing on the upper sea of blessedness, and 
the hazy atmosphere of the season mel- 
lowing and softening all. Here do I trust 
to pour into thy listening ear many a 
pleasant story. This the first page to 
the most restful chapter of my life. In 
Brooklyn without these friends, who 
since my orphanage have become part 
and parcel of my life, I felt enveloped in 
such an atmosphere of loneliness, it seem- 
ed it must be palpable, and cold, and 
chilling to all who saw me. As I entered 
these doors, it fell from me as a garment, 
and I "put on my singing robes again." 
Here, there is no repression, no misap- 
prehension. Here, as a friend said, one 
seems to " take off the flesh, and sit in 
the soul." The air is instinct with the 
realization of life having been given for a 
blessed purpose. Of the dear G-od having 
made all things beautiful from which He 
would have us draw out all the joy and 



glory that we can. Not for idle pleasure 
do they live, these blessed friends of mine, 
but for the attainment each moment of 
all the culture and acquirement and 
growth that they may. Cousin Harry 
is a man of rare culture, and his bonnie 
Kate, a very miracle of grace and beauty, 
" never opening her mouth without drop- 
ping pearls," while her rare accomplish- 
ments in music and drawing are a daily 
joy and charm. The dear Aunt Kuth, 
whose deep love for me has "its root in 
my dear dead mother's grave, '^ seemeth 
ever fair as an angel, and is enthroned as 
one, within the home. Her beautiful sil- 
ver hair curls lovingly about her face, as 
if it felt the delicious "serenity and peace- 
fulness that abides there in ever undis- 
turbed beauty. A smile seems ever 
trembling upon her lip, while the sweet 
beams of her eyes are as an ever new 
revelation. Majestic and stately in bear- 
ing, she has been from childhood to my 
imagination a born Queen, and often have 
I wondered what her life-story can have 
been, that she is not crowned and sceptred 
in some home, instead of treading life's 
path alone. Alone, yet not alone, for 
everywhere her presence is hailed as 
blessed. We all love to have sunbeams 
come creeping into our dwellings, and she 
is so kind as to say, no mother was ever 
more blessed in her daughters than she in 
her nieces, of whom in this small house- 
hold she numbers three, beside Kate and 
myself. Alice, a fair-haired maiden of 



eighteen ; Theodora, a brunette, twency- 
three or four, and Constance, nineteen, 
plain, but highly cultured. Nor must we 
forget the children. Arthur, a bright, 
noble boy of sixteen ; Max and Guy, boys 
of nine and ten, and the sylph-like Utile 
maidens, Kathie and Margie, of six and 
eight. We shall be entirely dependent 
upon each other for society, except we 
make an occasional escapade to the lifteen 
miles distant city, and now and then, they 
tell me, agreeable calls from three or four 
cultured gentlemen, who, like Harry, have 
left their accustomed city habits to brin^' 
their well-trained energies to the develop- 
ment of these wondrous mines. For some 
this would seem a dreary outlook for the 
long winter closing in, but to us, if we 
cannot make the winter beautiful, we feel 
we must be poor indeed in resources, and 
the burden of my song to you, dear Jour- 
nal, will be, how we make it beautiful and 
useful, and rich to each and all. 

October 31st. It is late, dear Journal, 
but as no kind spirit has come to anoint 
my eyelids with the dews of sleep, I will 
e'en pour into thy faithful bosom the story 
of the evening. The day was mostly 
spent in disposing my belongings, in a 
manner best adapted to the needs and 
comfort of a winter lurking place, and 
after a cosy dish of tea, we were gathered 
eufamille in the charming salon,, when a 
ring at the door (which in country homes, 
where calls are few, wakens a sense of ex- 
pectancy through the house, until an- 



6 



swered) surprised us, and still more sur- 
prised were we, when the gentlemen from 
the Glen came in. As our one resource 
for society outside ourselves, you can im- 
agine dear Faithful, I looked eagerly for 
a first impression. 

Mr. Montague, tall, and very elegant, 
black hair and eyes. 

Mr. Graham, medium height, brown 
hair and eyes, with peculiarly pleasing 
address. 

Mr. Carlton, fair as the "fair-haired 
Harold" of old, of most agreeable pres- 
ence. 

Mr. Mortimer most distingue, in height, 
and form and feature, with an ever vary- 
ing expression of face, at every ripple of 
thought passing over him. 

After the first courtesies of introduc- 
tion, Mr. Graham remarked, " AVe found 
it dull, keeping bachelor's hall on All Hal- 
low Eve, and could not resist the tempta- 
tion of coming, Mrs. Montgomery, to pass 
it in your bower of fair ladies." 

"We were wondering before 3^ our en- 
trance, how we might suitably keep the 
time without a single Carpet Knight," 
she replied. 

"Perhaps the inspiration came from 
you, for with one accord, when trying to 
settl3 ourselves for the evening, we ex- 
claimed, Halloween here, is like ' the play 
of Hamlet, with ' Hamlet left out. ' Let 
us sally forth, like the Good Knight San 
Mancho iu search of adventures on this 



'night to be observed,' and here we are, 
on the qui vive for a peep into futurity, 
searching there for theDulcineaswho hold 
our threads of destiny." 

"We will do our spiriting gently," re- 
sponded Mrs. Montgomery, " that there 
may be nothing too Quixotic in the 
search." 

" Saw you any fairies ?" asked eager 
Alice, "beneath the moon's pale beams 
as you came hither ward ?" 

"None," responded Mr. Montague, 
" though as we came along the winding 
banks of the Kanawha, we felt its roman- 
tic nooks were just the ones where fairies 
light, but it was scarcely the witching 
hour." 

"In my rides," said Constance, "I 
have singled out many spots as favorite 
and fitting haunts for fairies, and to-mor- 
row propose visiting them to look for 
fair}^ foot-prints." 

"Let us go! Let us all go !" we ex- 
claimed in full chorus. " Where you lead 
we'll follow, but it must be in the early 
dawning before the dew is off", or the sun 
will efface the trace of their lightsome 
trippings." 

"With the 'first glance that breaks 
from morning's eyes,' I will be ready," 
said Constance. 

"Provided," said Mr. Carlton, "the 
Elfin folk do not cast such spells and 
charms about us upon this night, as to 
bewitch us too thoroughly." 

"No provisos allowed." exclaimed 



Mrs. Montgomery, ' ' even though ridden 
by witches, good knights are undismayed. 
The glaive has been cast down, you can 
but pick it up, but the charmed moments 
fly. Now, shut your eyes, and haad in 
hand go to the garden gate, the path is 
straight, so you need not fail, and reach- 
ing down with eyes tight closed, pull each 
a stock of cabbage, and bring them in to 
me." 

Merrily all clasped hands, and passed 
through the door leading into the garden, 
with Mr. Montgomery in front as pilot, 
and to see fair play, while our fair hostess 
went to order the oatmeal cakes and but- 
ter, which are the indispensable delecta- 
bilities of a Halloween supper. 

" A spell of silence, I cast over you all," 
said our leader, and silently we followed 
the sound of his footsteps down the broad 
path. "Xow pull, one and all, the first 
stock you meet with, without moving an 
eyelid." 

Gaily we laughed, as in pantomimic 
eagerness, w^e stooped and pulled the pro- 
phetic kail, and bore it triumphantly into 
the house, where dear auntie, with her 
ever ready sense of nice proprieties, had 
cleared the ample library table, and cov- 
ered it with a cloth, from which the earth 
and roots could easily be shaken, after 
shadowing forth our destinies. "Blink 
not an eye," she said, "till you have 
ranged yourselves about the table, and 
deposited the homely prophets." 

Opening our eyes, a peal of laughter, 



like the chiming of joy-bells rang out, as 
the uncouth shapes with loose earth cling- 
ing about them, appeared resting in front 
of each. 

"Aunt Ruth must be the sibyl to read 
these leaves of destiny," said Kate, 
" while Harry and I station ourselves at 
either end, and watch the working of the 
charm." 

" I will pass round the table in order," 
smilingly said Auntie. ''Theodora, yours 
is tall and straight, and speaks of a knight 
like the goodly cedar. No earth clings to 
the root, showing him * lord of his learn- 
ing,' and no wealth beside." 

' ' Mr. Montague, yours too, is tall and 
straight, betokening a stately Queen of 
Hearts, and the mass of earth about it, 
speaks of solid charms." 

"Mr. Graham, yours is short, and 
an abundance of what the French call 
' matter,' hangs about its stock." 

" Alice, yours too is short, and encum- 
bered with the ' embarrassment of riches, ' 
so we can hardly see its shape." 

" Rebecca's tall as the ' Evergreen 
Pine,' 'Gaily it spreads and broadly doth 
grow,' while enough of Mother Earth 
adheres to promise competence and com- 
fort." 

" Mr. Carlton, yours is graceful and 
shapely, the most perfect one of all, but 
nothing of the 'earth, earthy,' clings 
about its fibres." 

"Constance, yours is gnarled and 



8 



twisted, but full of strength, of fine pro- 
portions, and laden with earth." 

"Mr. Mortimer, last but not least, 
yours is a mass of delicate fibres, fine 
almost as frrapo tendrils, each earth cov- 
ered as with a coating of moss." 

" In every one there lurks a fairy, who 
thread by thread is spinning out the woof 
of destiny for each. From each I break 
a tiny hi:, as a talisman, and bid these 
fair ladies encase them in morocco, at the 
first interlude of leisure, that each may 
bear them with them, in memory of this 
haunted hour, bidding you guard and 
keep them as the devotee an Amulet." 

'•Bind mine with blue, I pray," cried 
Mr. Montague, " in token of true blue de- 
votion to my ' Queen of Hearts.' " 

"And this with 'celestial rosy red,'" 
said Mr. Graham, "as the hue of mine." 

"Mine with Opaline, in token of the 
concentration of all hues in the fairy 
sprite the sibyl pledged to me," exclaimed 
Mr. Carlton. 

"I choose," said Mr. Mortimer, "a 
Yiolet Shrine for my Amulet, for there I 
lay the purple of my heart and life." 

" And girls yours should be bound in 
green, as you must ' wear the willow, ' till 
your good Knights appear," cried cousin 
Harry. 

Soon workboxcs were opened, and rib- 
bons and bits of morocco produced, 
Aunlie and Kate profiering to do double 
duty, in covering two a piece with the 



green, while we each, took one of the 
cavaliers' to enshrine. 

" Say a charm, say a charm, over mine. 
Miss Eebecca, as you draw the thread in 
and out," said Mr. Mortimer. 

' ' I once saw a company of fair ^uns in 
a cloister, covering Agnus Dei's. They 
enshrined holy words in dainty covers for 
the good of the soul, 3'ou for our hearts," 
said Mr. Montague. 

"I shall w^ear mine next my heart," 
said Mr. Carlton, ' ' and no ' sparkle of fine 
love ' shall ever penetrate it until it 
come from the fairy-like little sweetheart 
promised me." 

"I too will bind mine upon my breast," 
cried Mr. Graham, ''and when the good 
fairy fulfills the pledge, will carve it on my 
crest." 

Thus words fell trippingly from the 
tongue, until the Amulets were finished, 
when Aunt Kuth in sibyl fashion, said 
over them a murmured charm and spell, 
and bestowed each on the rightful owner. 

"Xow, burn the nuts," called Kate, 
leading the way into the Dining Saloii, 
where a bright fire was blazing. " Each 
select two nuts from the heaped dish upon 
the table, name, and lay upon the table, 
name, and lay upon the fire, and as they 
burn quietly together, or start from beside 
one another, the course and issue of the 
wooing shall be." Casting them in two 
and two, named for a lad and lassie, we 
watch for the moment of divination, when, 
lo, all burst together, and in a general 



conflagration seemed all to burn, and 
start, and crack at once. 

'' The spell is broken, the lights burn 
blue," said Auntie, "the faries love not 
'twice told tales,' though 'thrice the 
brindle cat has mewed,' they will not 
come again." 

"Let us be content," said Constance, 
"and sing a Hallow-Eve chant, in honor 
of their visit." 

Gathering about the piano, in rich, full 
chorus, they sang, "as if to breathe were 
music," the fitting Vy^ords : 

"The Autumn's fairy gold turns pale, 

It freezes ; but no frost of earth 

The seasons of the soul can blight. 

Here bloom at once a Spriug of mirth, 

A iSummer-tide of joy to-night : 

Though days grow short, the fire's a sun, 

Tliat will not set without our leave, 

Our hearts are glowiug every-one, 

In the beams of Hallow-Eve ! 

And sure this is a fairy hour 

That lets tlie ghostly world retrieve, 

A little while its ancient powei:, 

In right of Hallow-Eve ; 

Much joy an 1 pain have cause more vain, 

'i ban ours of Hallov/-Eve ! 

Come then ! let none look sourly grave, 

Nor croak this niizht in rusty talk ! 

Let cares take fliii:ht before our stave, 

As ghosts at crowing of the cock ! 

How many things that are indeed 

Mere ghosts and shadows men believe. 

The sole, true suliptance ! men, whose creed 

Despisrs Hallow-Eve, 

Without one Hallow-Eve, 

Or time like Hallow-Eve, 



Of loving mirth — how great the dearth, 
Is theirs — dear Hallow-Eve ! " 

" The oatmeal cakes are smoking on the 
table," Kate cheerily called as the last 
note died awa^-, and laughable was the zest 
and relish with which the " bonny cakes of 
Scotland " were devoured by those who 
fain would mingle with the Elfin folk. 
Merry quips and cranks of wit flavored 
and saucecl our well-buttered cakes, 'till 
Auntie closed the bannock banquet by 
saying, "If you are to brush the dew 
from the heather in the morning, you had 
better seek your pillows. Fairies never 
yet were seen by dull and weary eyes," 
and suiting the action to the word, she 
began handing one and another their scat- 
tered belongiugs, in her sweet, helpful 
way, while Harry almost forcibly detained 
the "captive Knights," as guests, pledg- 
ing himself to sound a reveille, and have 
the steeds equipped at the fitting moment, 
adding gayly in his rich recitative, 

" The night is Hallow E'en, my friends, 
The morn is Hallow Day, 
And gin ye dare your true love win, 
Ye surely here must stay. 

" The night is good Hallow E'en, 
When fairy folk will ride, 
And they that wad their true love win, 
At our house they maun bide." 

The guests at his bidding, mounting 
the stairs, caught up the strain in re- 
sponse, and sang — 



10 



" The morn is Hallow E'en n'c^ht, 

The Ellin Court will ride, 
Through En2:land and thro' all Scotland, 

And"th rough the warld wide. 
Oh, they beyin at sky sett in, 

Ride a' the evening tide." 

I ought to be sleeping, dear Familiar, 
but spirits, white, blue, and gray, all are 
whispering and throwing pictures, as 
from magic lanterns on my brain, of fig- 
ures tall as evergreen pines. What charm 
will exorcise them ? I will lay me down, 
and see if they can force their way into 
dreamland, and " tickle my nose while I 
sleep." 

iS^ovember 1st. It has been a golden 
day, dear Journal, written as with a sun- 
beam. 

Early in the dewy morning we were 
cap-a-pie for adventure. Theodora and 
Mr. Montague leading off at full gallop, 
followed by Constance and Mr. Graham, 
Alice and Mr. Carlton, Mr. Mortimer and 
myself. 

'' A draught of more sparkling, exhila- 
rating November was never quaffed, " said 
I, as we rode on at a brisk canter. 

" The morning is most fitting for such 
an escapade," said my chevalier. "All 
nature is beautiful, as if under a spell of 
enchantment." 

" Surely no spirit of evil dare walk 
abroad in such holy time, 'J I returned. 

" The fairy folk, whose trippings we are 
seeking to discover at this unwonted hour, 
may not rank us among spirits of good," 



he replied, " though it seemeth all fair 
things must love to welcome spirits suchfis 
those that make an Eden of Montgomery 
House." 

" It is a beautiful Home, ' ' said I ; " and 
like going down from dusty streets into a 
temple, to enter and breathe its atmos- 
phere, and watch the ' daily beauty ' of 
the lives of its high priest and priestess." 

"Aye, verily is it, and now they have 
gathered such an array of vestal virgins 
to keep the holj flame alight upon its 
altar, our brotherhood will ofcen bow at 
its shrine, craving to assist at ceremonies 
such as those of yesternight," was his 
gallant rejoinder. 

"I doubt not you will find them ever 
hospitably inclined. They ' welcome the 
coming,' and 'speed the parting guest,' 
with a rare grace and courtesy. And the 
occasions for ceremonials are not infre- 
quent, as the faithful observance of holi- 
days holds a high place in their home creed. 
Every birthday, name-day, wedding-day, 
and kindred anniversary is a red4etter day 
in their calendar, and celebrated duly as 
those prescribed and set apart by the 
Church and world," said I. 

"It is a charming custom, and wins 
my admiration," said he. 

" It is a wise bit of philosophy, too," I 
rejoined. "If, as some modern Solomon 
hath it, the secret of accomplishing any- 
thing by j|pi"d work, is the knowing when 
and how to recreate, the more holidays 
the better, surely." 



11 



"Yes," was his reply, "the utilitarian 
spirit is overreaching itself, and crippling 
its own energies, by blindness to the 
need in our nature of divertissement and 
change." 

" There was never truer word spoken," 
I returned eagerly, " and then these dear 
home festivals draw out and cultivate the 
sweetest sympathies and instincts of our 
being, and bind families together with 
cords stronger and more enduring than 
those of iron." 

"Aye," was his response, and an ex- 
pression of tender seriousness overspread 
his fine face ; " I see, it carries friendship 
to its noontide point, and gives the rivet 
of eternity." 

Our horses had relaxed their pace, in 
harmony with the gradually deepening 
tone of our conversation, and we were 
entirely oblivious of the space increasing 
between us and our companions, until 
aroused by a merry shout, and Mr. Carl- 
ton's gay voice declaring us "spell 
bound." As we reached the party, who 
halted to await us, Mr. Graham said, 

" I was remonstrating with Miss Con- 
stance upon bringing us out upon so weird 
an errand, as we missed you, and am 
more than ever convinced it was an un- 
canny thing to do, to be out before the 
cock-crowing to spy out the secrets of 
fairydom, for had we not broken the charm 
by our voices, some will-o'-the-wisp had 
soon beguiled you into an enchanted cas- 



tle. Keep close hereaiucr, for I feel the 
presence in the air of unseen Calibans on 
the watch for fair Mirandas." 

Mr. Carlton exclaimed — 

" I begin to feel e'rie, by all the hokey 
pokeys. Puck and his train have anointed 
my eyes !" 

"And my ears," cried Mr. Montague ; 
"fori hear the sound of the elf-knight 
blowing his horn !" 

"I 'dreamed a drearie dream,' last 
night," said Mr. Mortimer. 

" I knew it I I knew it !" exclaimed Mr. 
Graham ; " it was a warning ; if w^e had 
not called, he would have been carried 
away by the fairies to the castle of the 
King of Elf-Land." 

" Who knows but he is even now under 
the spell ?" asked I possessed by the mer- 
riest mood, and gaily I sang the rounde- 
lay— 

" I am the Queen of fair Elf-Land, 
That am hither come to visit thee. 
This is the road to fair Elf-Land, 
Where thou and I this uig-ht maun gang-. 
But, mortals, ye maun hold 3'our tongue, 

Whatever ye may hear or see. 
For, if you speak word in Elfln Land, 
Ye'Il ne'er get back to your ain countrie, 
A' the blude that's shed on earth, 
Rins throug-li the springs o' that countrie." 

"Angels and ministers of grace defend 
us I I hear their bridles ring !" said Mr. 
Montague, as we spurred our horses into 



12 



their swiftest pace, and went twinkling 
o'er the green, singing — 

" Over hill, over dale, 
Throuo:li busli, through briar, 

Over park, over pale. 
Through flood, through tire, 

I do wauder everywhere." 

As we drew rein beneath a greenwood 
tree, exhilarated by our brisk gallop, Mr. 
Mortimer, with his courtly accent, said — 
"It were easy, Miss Rebecca, for me to 
make it? a part of my credo, that you 
were indeed a fairy sent here to seek dew- 
drops, ' and hang a pearl in every cow- 
slip's ear,' and I should not be surprised 
to see you ' creep into an acorn cup, and 
hide you there !' " 

"Let me return the dainty flattery," I 
said. ' ' I could believe you had the power 
to put a ' girdle round the earth in forty 
minutes.'" 

"Everything strengthens my belief, for 
verily this is the very ' bank whereon the 
wild thyme grew,' on that midsummer 
night so long ago. ' Come, now, a roundel 
and a fairy song !' " 

And merrily we sang catch after catch, 
refrain and melody, till the remainder of 
the party coming up, Mr. Graham ex- 
claimed — 

" It smells of fairies. Look here ; I see 
the rings, and charmed circles where they 
'featlyfoot it here and there,' it is but 
our coming has put them to flight." 

" We have had no time to look for elves, 
or nymphs, while spurring on to seek 



you," said Mr. Carlton. "As amends, 
you should reveal what you have seen, 
and heard, and felt." 

" Oh I oh I indeed, a thousand pardons," 
cried I, blushing, as the consciousness of 
the chase I had led them, under the do- 
minion of the wild spirit of fun, flashed 
over me, " it was a fit of ' very midsum- 
mer madness' in iJsovember. 

"Would that it might last all through 
life," said a voice so tremulously tender 
at my ear, as to make my own tremble in 
response, as feigning not to hear I said in 
a merry way, to the others, "your visual 
orbs are not sufliciently purged from film 
to see old fairyland's miraculous show. 

Fearing it might be so, I brought the 
poet's rhyme to call it up, with little 
thought of myself enacting the part of 

Culprit Fay." Drawing from the pocket 
of my habit, Drake's charming creation, 
I proposed dismounting, and encamping, 
while one and another "lent to the rhyme 
of the poet the music of their voice." 

Soon we were ranged in a mystic circle, 
on one of the loveliest banks ever beheld. 
Wild flowers springing everywhere, of 
gorgeous hues, in each of wiiiich might 
lurk a sprite. Graceful trees, fit homes 
for Dryads, as the silvery streams for 
nymphs, while in the distance the many- 
hued rocky hillsides seemed the very hid- 
ing-places for tricksy trolls. The harmony 
of word and scene was perfect, and the 
very atmosphere seemed in sympathy with 
us. Mr. Montague read the first nine 



13 



verses. Then Mr. Carlton took up the 
strain, and carried us dreamily aloui^with 
him nine canlos more, ^Yhe^ Mr. Grab am 
took the bock lor the next nine, aud Mr. 
Mortimer finished. The iniiuence of the 
sacred nine was complete. ^N'ever did the 
exquisite poem seem so beautiful, and at 
the close, some moments passed in un- 
broken silence. At length Theodora said, 
" This wonderful creation has rendered 
the walk upon the Hudson, that occa- 
sioned it, memorable forever. I always 
bless the frhosts of Paulding and Irving, as 
well as Drake, often as I think of it. 
Hereaiter I shall also associate with it the 
memory of this hour. It will be like one 
of those pictures of Jean Paul, surround- 
ed by floating clouds, all of which are 
angels' faces, but so soft and shadowy, 
they must be sought for to be perceived." 

"Yes," said Mr, Montague, "this 
group will be as much a part of the poem 
now, as the cherubs are a part of the pic- 
ture of the Madonna de San Sisto." 

"The second 'Culprit Fay ' will live 
longer in my memory even than the first," 
said the voice at my ear. 

In my confusion, lest my wild spirits 
had led me too far, and precious little 
maiden modesty should be imputed to 
poor Ilebecca, I had sat silent as a sphinx, 
and now, hurriedly taking the book from 
Mr. Mortimer, I said, springing to my 
feet, "'The cock has crowed, and the 
Fays are gone. ' Breakfast awaits us at 



Montgomery House, let us mount and 
away.^" 

Alice followed my action, saying, " I 
am ready, Mr. Carlton," and as he ^lifted 
her lighily to her saddle, I heard him say, 
" We will away, but never shall I forget 
the joys of fairy ground." 

Soon " light to the crouper the fair la- 
dies were swung," and we were briskly re- 
tracing our steps, drinking in exhilaration 
with every breath, until almost intoxicated 
with joy. Keeping together, and calling 
to one another and jesting, 'till we reached 
the open door, where stood our host and 
hostess, drawn to the spot by the clatter- 
ing of hoofs upon the carriage drive. 

Cousin Harry called out merrily — 

'* By tho pricking: of my thumbs, 
Something wicked this way comes, 
Open locks, whoever knocks." 

With eager voices, one and all told 
gayly the story of the ride, quite unspar- 
ing of the "Culprit Fay," who now, as 
she sits here quietly writing, fears the 
mad spirit of fun has led her to do things 
unmaidenly and forward. 

Here, in my little book, I find a hare- 
bell gathered from the bank whereon we 
sat. Why, why, poor foolish heart, did 
it quicken thy pulsation to find the tiny 
blossom ? 

Mr. Montgomery insisted on the gentle- 
men remaining through the da}', as it was 
a Hol3'-day, and going with us to the lit- 
tle Church close by, for the service of All 



14 



Saiuis' Day, which as licensed Lay Eead- 
er, he read himself. It has ever been to 
me one of the sweetest feasts of the year, 
and never more sweet than to-day. Cousin 
Kate in our absence, had not only wreath- 
ed the parlor with autumn-leaves gath- 
ered and prepared for this special service, 
but had trimmed the altar and font, and 
chancel, and very lovely they looked — 
their ripe loveliness speaking eloquently 
of the dear ones ''ripe for heaven," in 
whose memory we kept the Feast. In 
the afternoon, as we sat in the salon ^ 
Cousin Harry read to us Bishop Coxe's 



beautiful poem on " Halloween. " We en- 
joyed every word of the wonderful vision, 
and could not cease marveling it was not 
more widely circulated. 

Our good knights remained until the 
evening was far spent, and as I sit writing 
here, dear Familiar, so much has been 
crowded into the day — I have lived so 
f\ist during its passage — its events seem 
to form so large and inseparable a part of 
life, I can hardly credit your witness, that 
but one short day has passed since last I 
sat here, writing up " this chase of my- 
self." 



15 



CHAPTER II. 



November 5th. This has been a very 
sweet day, dear Familiar, in my " Calen- 
dar of Experiences." It being dear aun- 
tie's birthday, and wishing to make as 
much of a festival of it as possible, we 
persuaded her to accompany Cousin Harry 
in an escapade to town. As soon as she 
was safely smuggled away, we gathered 
in council in her sanctum to do honor to the 
occasion. I came armed with a huge pile 
of yellow paper, between each leaf of which 
were pressed graceful ferns, gathered last 
summertime for winter use. Dear aun- 
tie's love for these woodland pets, amounts 
almost to a passion, and has become pro- 
verbial, so that we often call her, "Our 
Lady of the Ferns." She was in my 
mind when I gathered the dainty trea- 
sures, selecting them as she had taught 
me when a child, with the greatest care, 
" Discard all that are not absolutely per- 
fect," was her motto, handed down as an 
inheritance for gatherers of this ' ' most 
eesthetic of plants." Day by day I had 
thought of her as I turned them, and 
changed the papers, during the process of 
drying, which had been so successfully 
accomplished that they had lost neither 
grace nor hue. In the hurried packing 
for flitting hitherward, the first thing laid 
into my trunk was this pile of fer^i papers, 



over which I had placed quite ingeniously, 
I thought, a thin, smooth board, that ex- 
actly fitted into the trunk, which kept 
them firm as possible, so that when un- 
earthed this morning, not a leaflet or 
frond was curled or injured. " The par- 
tial wood-gods overpaid my love." I 
came in bearing them aloft in triumph, 
saying, " Behold, my oflfering !" Various 
were the expressions of admiration as I 
unfolded the leaves and drew from their 
hiding places the darlings, for all were 
dear fern-lovers, and aided in arranging 
them in vases, and pinning them in va- 
rious shapes and ways upon the wall. As 
we worked we were transported to the 
" Flowery aromatic hollows," and mossy 
honey -pots, of the "memory peopled 
locality, ' ' where they gre w, and inhaled the 
odor of the odorous turf. One picture, very 
dear, of a young sister, long since sleeping 
beneath the ferias, was wreathed with deli- 
cate sprays of maiden hair. Another of 
a brother called when life was ripest, with 
long sprays of the climbing fern, "noth- 
ing'but leaves," at first, it had climbed 
and climbed towards the light, until sur- 
mounting the beautiful spray of leaves, 
the long spire of flowers grew. We knew 
there was a whole volume of poetry hidden 
beneath the leaves, and that all the sweet 



16 



thoughts and fancies, born of the sun and 
dew would be le.ojible to the dear auntie's 
eyes as if on printed page. Like Thoreau, 
she has " an out of doors heart," and is a 
constant friend to flowers, and ferns, and 
mosses. Long years she has been learning to 
read the book of nature, and so perfect is the 
harmony established between her soul and 
mother nature's, it is like a new revelation 
to hear her unfold the sacred sympathies 
and secrets, written on leaves and flowers, 
hill-sides, clouds and streams. On the 
table I left a little slip of birch-bark, on 
which I had inscribed, 

Pray take these little sprays, 

Of graceful woodlaud ferns, 
In honor of the day, 

With many e:lad returns. 
All summer long they grew, 

lu wood nook far away, 
Nursed by the sun and dew, 

To grace this Holiday. 

Constance unfolded her hidden offering 
of exquisitely preserved autumn leaves, 
of most wondrous dyes and shades. Some 
woven into designs, others loose, of choi- 
cest color and form, which, with great 
skill and taste she fastened upon the 
window panes, until they had the effect of 
beautifully stained glass. Cousin Kate 
had copied a charming sketch of the old 
home, which cousin Harry had framed 
deftly with carvings daintily wrought 
with his own fingers. 

Alice had a beautiful pot of primroses, 
in lull blooming, and Theodora a luxuri- 



ant cape jessamine, for which she had 
been caring at the house of one of the de- 
pendents, lest its tell-tale fragrance should 
betray her, if stored away ever so jealous- 
ly within the house. The room seemed 
like a perfect tabernacle, and was fragrant 
as a conservatory. Oar hearts sang joy- 
ously within our bosoms, as we felt the 
language of the whole would be beautiful 
and touching as a poem to her " whom 
we delight to honor," revealing the in- 
cense rising from the censers of our 
souls. 

Mrs. Montgomery dispatched a note to 
the Knights of Halloween, bidding them 
to a birthday supper, without saying in 
whose honor. 

We wreathed the salon and dining- 
room with blossoms of the madeira vine. 
It was so nearly time for it to wither, 
Cousin Kate had the loaded vines cut 
down, and great baskets of trailing 
branches covered with the delicate fra- 
grant blooms brought in, and all exer- 
cised their taste in arranging them in 
most artistic ways. By putting the 
ends of the long stems in bottles of water, 
hidden behind pictures, cornices, mirrors, 
book-cases, &c., they will bloom freshly 
and fragrantly for six and eight weeks, 
and there is no end to the graceful and 
varied ways in which they can be gar- 
landed and trailed about. I would j^ou 
could get a peep into the "flower-bap- 
tized room." The "Olympus of the 
establishment." You must know the 



17 



house is built after a fashion rare to see. 
This grand salon runs entirely through 
the house from side to side, each end all 
glass, like a magnified bow window, in 
which all sorts of rare leaf-plants, vines 
and perpetual bloomers grow in vases 
and baskets and boxes. The walls are 
lined with book-cases and cabinets, and 
the large tables, chairs and sofas, seem 
always "^to be in exactly the right place. 
The front door opens into a hall in the 
centre of the house, running to the salon^ 
with a drawing-room upon one side 
and music-room upon the other. This 
last furnished with the lightest possible 
furniture, straw and cane and willow and 
genre materials, with no cushions to in- 
jure sound. Tiled floor, windows ar- 
ranged with reference to lights, upon the 
*' silent companions for life," upon the 
walls, for though there are pictures every- 
where within the house, here is where 
the gems, "the most do congregate." 
Another hall with folding doors like the 
front, opens directly on the opposite side 
of the salon from the front hall. The 
dining-room on one side, and Cousin 
Kate's room upon the other with bou- 
doirs and study opening out of it, and 
children's rooms in rear of both sides of 
the hall, so that for their own immediate 
family there is no climbing of stairs. A 
delightful hall runs the length of the 
second story, giving charming rooms on 
either side, where each of us have set up 
our own tabernacle, with guest chambers 



in the rear. Everything moves as if by 
magic in the house — everything done, 
and yet you do not see it done. The 
moving of the springs and the machinery 
are out of sight. Like Herder's wife. 
Cousin Kate performs all the duties of life 
as cheerfully, gracefully, and faithfully, 
as if she had never learned the alphabet 
of literature, music and painting. 

Just before sunset, the dear Queen of 
the festival came. It was good to see the 
freshness and joy with which she detailed 
the pleasures of her trip, and better still, 
the tears of joy in her soft eyes, when she 
descended from her sanctum, saying, 
"One is never too old to be remembered 
and beloved." It brought to mind the 
words of " rare Ben Jonson." " As she 
goes, all hearts do duty, unto her beauty. " 

It comes to me now that I have entirely 
forgotten the children's oflferings. She 
certainly would not have done so. Each 
gave of their chief treasures. Arthur, a 
beatiful Oriole, of most exquisite form 
and plumage, most dexterously preserved 
and stuffed, an art into which he has 
promised to induct me this winter. Max, 
a lovely butterfly, the choicest of his col- 
lection ; and Guy, a tiny shell,^ suspended 
over her mirror, eloquent of his tastes, as 
the " sea shell far-removed that murmurs 
of its own." Kathie had a collection of 
pressed flowers, gathered in explorations 
about the Kanawha, — Margie, of Mosses. 
Each offering, so suggestive of the donor, 
that all mosses, and flowers, and shells, 



18 



and butterflies, and birds, would be dearer 
and holier from that hour. Hereafter 
could she see a shell, and not think of 
Guy, a butterfly, and not remember Max, 
a bird, and forget Arthur, a flower, with- 
out remembering Kathie, a moss, without 
green memories of Margie ? 

It was Guy's birthday, too, and he had 
been looking forward to it for weeks, as 
to an epoch in his life, a new era in exist- 
ence, as if to step into another year was 
the entering into another room in fairy- 
land. 

Just as the word was given to " stir the 
fire, and close the shutters fast, let fall 
the curtains, wheel the sofa round," we 
heard on the lawn, the "prancing and 
pawing " of the steeds of the glen, and the 
good knights four appeared on the scene. 

Isolation from old associations makes 
very strong the cords linking us to these 
few friends in the wilds, and gives us a 
glimpse of the sentiment binding pioneers 
and new settlers together, until a commu- 
nity of interests, and mutual dependence 
in the settlement takes the place and 
fills the void made by the absence of the 
old neighborly sympathies and knowledge 
of each other, wrought out by life-long 
intimacies, grafted on to inherited friend- 
ships and loves. An interest in each 
other, unknown among the numberless 
resources of large acquaintance, and the 
manifold claims of society, is inspired by 
our very circumstances aside from the 
congenialities that anywhere would have 



made us a most concordant club. Some 
persons would have been wholly unclub- 
bable, even here. Those who rather 
" club their loneliness than make society 
for each other," as Curtis says, but 
among our clubbists are none that are 
not clubbable, none that club not bright 
and kindly thoughts. 

After the accustomed interchanges of, 
" Is it well ? Is it well wiih thee ? Is it 
well with the child?" we were ushered 
into the supper-room, where the "bub- 
bling and loud hissing urn threw up a 
steamy column, and the cups that cheer, 
but not inebriate," waited on each. 

The centerpiece of the table was a 
beautifully iced cake, with a huge wax 
candle burning in the centre, and ten (of 
smaller size, but still large) tapers, encir- 
cling the circumference ; a pretty German 
custom, the central light, symbolizing the 
light of life and the circle of lights the 
years of the pilgrimage. All congratula- 
ted the manly boy on the completion of 
his first decade, and at the close of the 
banquet, it was proposed that each should 
give him a sentiment. 

The father rising, said, reverently, 
" May his light so shine before men, that 
they may see his good works and glorify 
our Father which is in Heaven." 

All touched their glasses to their lips as 
if uttering an Amen to a prayer. 

The mother then gave, "May his path 
be the path of the just, shining more and 
more unto the perfect day." 



19 



Auntie, "May his candle never be hid 
under a bushel." 

Mr. Montague, " May he be a great 
light in the world." 

Theodora, " And his ' shadow never be 
less I'" 

Mr. Carlton, " In his honor, may his 
native city some day be illuminated." 

Alice, ""And everywhere welcoming 
lights shine out as beacons for him." 

Mr. Graham, " May he live to see ten 
times ten candles burning round his birth- 
day cake." 

To which Constance echoed, "Maybe 
never be snuffed out." 

Mr. Mortimer, " How far those little 
candles throw their rays — so may his 
good deeds in a naughty world." 

I, Rebecca, ' ' May every hair of his head 
be a wax-candle to light him into glory." 

After we were snutrly established in the 
parlor, Guy's birthday gifts were exam- 
ined. A small microscope, his very own, 
proclaiming independence of father's and 
Arthur's larger ones ; a small cabinet for 
his shells, and some delicate instruments 
for investigations, and mounting speci- 
mens. These, with books upon his 
speciality, made his heart overflow with 
gladness. There is no dreariness in his 
outlook upon the long winter. Has he not 
his beloved shells as unfailing resources 
at all times ? Friends may fail, but their 
interest never. The days will be only all 
too short for his busy plans and projects. 



" Blessed is the man that has a hobby," 
said Mr. Mortimer. 

"Yes indeed," replied Mr. Montgom- 
ery, "Finding our pastime in such pur- 
suits, renders us independent of all outside 
circumstances. There is always a sacred 
place where we can retire, and forget 
whatever there may be to annoy." 

Mr. Montague said, " I was struck this 
morning with a remark of the great 
D'Israeli, ' to have always some secret 
darling id^a to which we can have re- 
course amid the noise and nonsense in the 
world, and which never foils to touch us 
in the most exquisite manner, is an art of 
happiness that fortune cannot deprive us 
of.' " 

Mrs. Montgomery replied, "If the world 
of Mothers could but realize the value of 
interesting employment to children, the 
earth would soon become a very Faradise 
to them. Instead of, 'Don't do that,' if 
they would say, 'Do this,' their cares 
would be decreased in the ratio of the in- 
crease of the children's happiness." 

Mr. Montgomery added, "As the years 
go on, scientific and artistic recreation 
become still more valuable. The ' inter- 
vals of business ' must be attended to, as 
rigidly as business itself. They are the 
moments open to most temptation. If 
some enlivening, and absorbing, occupa- 
tion awaited young men in their studios 
or dens, many would be kept from the 
scenes of temptation with which towns 



and cities abound. Having nothing 
agreeable to engage them, they wander 
oil' in pursuit of soraetliing to dissipate 
their ermui. A writer upon this subject 
says, ' Were the world empty, were it a 
silent barren waste, without a tree, or a 
blade of grass, there might possibly be an 
excuse for ennu% but overflowing as it 
does with the most beautiful curiosities, 
nothing is so utterly indefensible as to let 
a single waking hour die blank. Thanks 
be to God, as soon as a man desires to 
seek, he is enabled to find, directly he 
feels his heart and mind swell with a great 
desire, he finds the world ready and will- 
ing to supply him.' " 

"" Please Harry," said Auntie, " get the 
book and read the rest of the passage." 

" Most willingly," he replied, " ' Even 
though busily engaged throughout the 
day, in commercial or domestic avocations, 
the dolce far niente^ which our poor 
weariness is so apt to plead in the even- 
ing, and which no wise man ever refuses 
to listen to altogether, is a principle only 
to be admitted under the protest that the 
proper rest for man is change of occupa- 
tion; there are few kinds of business 
which fatigue both body and mind at 
once ; while one toils, the other almost 
necessarily reposes ; when the one ceases 
work, nature rules that the other shall be 
fitted to begin, and that is a rare case in- 
deed where either body or mind is de- 
barred all opportunity of healthful and 
useful occupation when its turn to work 



comes on. Man is not so imperfectly con- 
stituted, nor is the world so defectively 
framed, as for him to be constrained to 
look for pastime and relaxation anywhere 
but in change from one improving em- 
ployment to another ; it may be questioned 
whether the sweetness of home can ever 
be truly enjoyed where the leading recrea- 
tion does not take the shape of some 
intelligent and pretty pursuit, such as the 
formation of an herbarium, or the use of 
the microscope or pencil. Boys would 
not incessantly be in mischief and trouble, 
were they encouraged to study natural 
history ; girls would be far livelier and 
more companionable, and also enjoy 
better health, were they trained to fixed 
habits of mental employment. The de- 
light of a single hour of recreation in art 
or science outweighs a whole lifetime 
of mere frivolities. Before the picture of 
this delight, could it be brought home to 
him, the mere trifler would sink in dis- 
may. Finding our pastime in such pur- 
suits, we render ourselves independent of 
the casualties of time and place, and 
secure an arbor of our own, where none 
can molest.' 

" ' While our leisure is honored and 
agreeably occupied by such pursuits, 
materials are acquired also for that most 
invaluable of the Fine Arts, the art of 
conversa.tion, destitute of which, no family 
or social circle can be thoroughly happy. 
Not that mere dry scientific facts of them- 
selves can serve its purposes, because the 



21 



best, most living part of conversation is 
emotional, imaginative, bird-like. More- 
over the richest conversation may be and 
often is wholly independent of such facts. 
But where brothers and sisters have each 
their tale to tell of something curious or 
interesting seen in the day's progress, and 
have a common interest in each other's 
discoveries and acquisitions, the imagina- 
tion soon finds wing, and the heart soon 
warms. To learn how to talk, let people 
learn how to do something, and get those 
about them to do the same.' 

'' ' No one can sharpen his intellectual 
faculties, or widen the range of his know- 
ledge, without becoming more skillful and 
successful in the business or profession in 
which he is engaged. Whatever tends 
to cheer the understanding in leisure mo- 
ments, so fiir from being in antagonism to 
business thought's, is complimentary to 
them, and gives them zest.' " 

''la teaching," says the good Jean 
Paul, "accustom the boy to regard his 
faiure, not as a path from pleasures, 
though innocent, to other pleasures ; nor 
even as a gleaning, from spring time to 
harvest, of flowers and fruits, but as a 
time in which he must execute some 
long plan , let him aim at a long course 
of activdn — not of pleasure." Then he 
shows how privileged is such a course : 
''That man is happy, for instance, who 
devotes his life to the cultivation of an 
island, to the discovery of one that is lost, 
or to the extent of the ocean. I would 



rather be the court gardener who watches 
and protects an Aloe for fifteen years, 
until at last it opens to him the heaven of 
its blossom, than the prince who is hasti- 
ly called to look at the opened heaven. 
The writer of a dictionary rises every 
morning, like the sun, to move past some 
little star in his zodiac ; a new letter is 
to him a new-year's festival, the conclu- 
sion of an old one, a harvest home. 
Bodily health as well as spiritual depends 
upon work." 

" Grindon has said much that is true 
and beautiful," continued Cousin Harry, 
"in his work, entitled 'Life, its Nature, 
Varieties, and Phenomena,' and if you 
would like, gentlemen, you can take it 
with you to the glen. It will be a fine 
tonic to brace you for the long winter in 
the wilderness." 

Accepting it gladly, the conversation 
drifted on delightfully. The book form- 
ing the key-note, and supplying ample 
texts, while, in honor of the birth-night, 
we examined Guy's precious treasures, in 
bottles and out of bottles, on slides under 
microscope, and in trays and so forth. 

After the juveniles had retired, Mrs. 
Montgomery said, " You have tasted but 
one drop of our festival goblet to-night. 
It is the birth-feast of another also." 

" So I shrewdly suspected," replied Mr. 
Mortimer. 

" How shall we know whom to honor?" 
asked Mr. Montague. 

A basket of fruit stood on the table — 



22 



oranges, lemons and apples — and auntie 
pointing to it playfully said, in sibylline 
fashion, " That basket can reveal the 
secret, significantly representing in its 
mingling of the sweet and the acid, the one 
whom for the day you must delight to 
honor. Add together the figures (in the 
right way) which number the different 
kinds of fruit, and you have the number of 
the years. Guess right, and I will tell you." 
All tried in various ways, provoking 
great merriment, by the ingenious twist- 
ing of stubborn figures. My turn coming 
last, I had solved it in my mind, with 
One, Two, Three, as the varieties of fruit. 
Two and Three, — Five, and One — Fifty- 
One, and said, trippingly. 

Adding the numbers 
Without any blunders 
In all kinds of ways, 
The term of the days 
Of your pilgrimage, 
I shrewdly presage 
Are Fifty and One, 
Years of shade and of sun, 
Three and Two, Five, 
Is the way to contrive 
By adding the One 
To reckon your suns, 
Say, am I right, 
Or strangely bedight ? 

*' So, all your divining-rods have failed, " 
exclaimed auntie. "It is Fifty and Six, 
Two apples, and Three lemons, giving 
the Five, and oranges Six — Fifty-Six." 

Just then a beautiful box of flowers, 
that had traveled from the banks of the 



Hudson, to give her birth-day greeting, 
arrived, and an envelope from another 
dear one, containing this little impromptu, 
which she lent me to copy in your faithful 
bosom : 

Bring forth some some tuneful instrument, 

And strike a measure sweet, 
And raise aloft a pleasure tent, 

For such a birthday meet ! 
With birthday love and birthday kiss, 

And loving, fond caress. 
Encircle her, that she may miss 
Old friends and kindred less. 

We know her thoughts are wand'ring back 
To Home's dear, birth-notch'd Tree, 

Countina: the birthdays on the track, 
Like Beads on Kosary ! 

Each pressure on the beaded string, 

Like touch of magic, calls 
Faces and forms, and circling rings 

Of Love that never falls. 

The first are shining all as gold, 

The next, of tender blue ; 
And now the gray, for tears have roll'd 

And. paled the sapphire hue. 

Then let the strain be soft and low, 

Of those that hailed her birth ; 
Her heart, in its sad overflow, 

Counts more in heaven than earth. 

But flowers still come from far-oflF homes. 

And gifts to crown the day. 
And loving prayers with each hour blend, 

And blessings with each ray. 

Love round her every footstep springs, 

Waking the wish to sing. 
And thread my memory on the string 

Of unforgotten things. 



23 



A tender seriousness pervaded the at- 
mosphere, all were so touched with the 
remembering love, and the stranger guests 
betrayed their gentle instincts in their 
courteous expressions of gratulation and 
good wishes, and of gratitude for being 
bidden to participate in so beautiful a 
Feast, intuitively recognizing the dear 
Auntie as the angel of the circle, dispens- 
ing gladness as from an overflowing foun- 
tain, and imparting good to all with whom 
she came in contact. No palette ever 
held colors sufficiently delicate to delineate 
the exquisitely varying shades of beauty 
her character displays. Every event and 
surrounding in life. Acting as a prism to 
reflect her rainbow- tinted excellence. 
Truly we are blessed above all blessing in 
having such an Auntie. GOD long spare 
lier, long '■' bear up the weight of her gray 
]>airs, and blunt the arrow that brings 
ihem rest." Some one remarking upon 
her unvarying, infectious cheerfulness, 
^he quoted, in reply, Fox's memorable 
words to his wife, applying them to us. 
With rare grace and courtesy : 

" Of years I have now a half century past, 
Ami none of the fifty so blest as the last, 
How it happens my troubles thus daily should 
cease, [increase, 

And uiy happiness thus ■with my years should 
You alouecan explain, who alone are the cause." 

Truly can it be said of her, " Her life is 
an open book, whose pages can be turned 
without finding a single blot. " Her tongue 
seemed to have received inspiration from 



the occasion, and flowed on in silvery 
sweetness, recounting her beautiful birth- 
days. Even from the far past, her father 
having early inscribed upon her memory 
St. Augustine's word and belief, that '' it 
is every man's bounden duty solemnly to 
keep his birthday. " Threaded upon life's 
string they gleamed out like pearls and 
precious stones upon her sight, as retro- 
spectively she cast a backward glance. 
Milestones upon Life's Journey, Notches 
on Time's Tally Stick, she called them. 
Few are the dear ones remaining of those 
who kept the day as a Festival in bygone 
years, and so often has she been called to 
weep by her desolate hearth, that her 
heart numbers more dear ones in heaven 
than upon earth, and very touching was 
her quotation of Irving's beautiful words, 
" If we made no new friends in our journey 
of life, we should in time be destitute.'' 
Soon after, she repeated Moore's Apostro- 
phe ; and I am sure we can never read it 
without the sweet cadences of her voice 
coming back to us, and surrounding them 
as an atmosphere : 

" My birthday? — what a different sound, 
That wor 1 had in my youthful ears. 

And how, each time the day comes round, 
Less and less white its mark appears. 

When first our scanty years are told, 
It seems like pastime to grow old, 

And, as Youth counts the shining links, 
That Time around him binds so fast, 

Pleased with the task, he little thinks, 
How hard that chain will press at last." 

I wish, dear Journal, the smile about 



24 



her mouth, and the dreamy pensiveness 
of her eyes, as she ceased repeatini^, 
could "extend to my paper, and there 
still be visible." There are looks and 
tones which we could wish to immortal- 
ize, so instinct with pow^er and life are 
they. As if that moment had gathered 
and condensed the whole of life, and its 
essence and result, and fruition, took on 
form and substance, that could be seen I 
and felt and comprehended, revealed as ; 
we shall be in that day when we shall ; 
"■know even as we are known " — and the j 
emancipated soul shall stand in spiritual 
beauty. When the work ot the Great Re- 
finer and the purifying of the crucible, the 
chiseling, and carving, and moulding of 
experiences, the work of the sua and 
shade, the inner and outer discipline, and 
the influences human and divine, have 
all done their work upon us. Oh ! how 
blessed, if like her we shall be found in 
that day to have been wrought upon, and 
purified till the Divine Purifier can see 
His face in us, as does the refiner and 
purifier of silver. I think I shall never 
forget that glimpse I caught of her soul, 
and shall ever be the better for it. A 
treasured memory rooted within us, is as 
a blessed companion elevating and en- 
nobling thought — exhaling a soothing, 
refreshing fragrance that permeates our 
very being. Daily am I more impressed 
with a sense of the manner in which we 
act and react upon one another, often i 
quoting Miss Wade's memorable words, I 



in which a life's experience is compressed. 
In our course through life we shall meet 
the people who are coming to meet ks, 
from many strange places, and by many 
strange roads, and what is set to us to do 
to them, and what it is set to them to do 
to us, will all be done." " You may be 
sure that there are men and women al- 
ready on the road, who have their busi- 
ness to do with you, and who will do it. 
Of a certainty they will do it. They may 
be coming hundreds and thousands of 
miles over the sea there, they may be 
close at hand now, they may be coming 
for anythiug you know, or anything that 
you can do, to prevent it, from the very 
vilest sweepmgs of this very town." 
Have I come here, thinkest thou, dear 
Familiar, beckoned by any subtle, mys- 
terious influence or agency ? Was there 
something of this undefined character in 
the sudden thrill of heart of which I was 
conscious, when, during the delicious 
Sonatas with which Constance closed the 
evening, Mr. Mortimer came to ray side 
and said, '"' Miss Rebecca, we Knights of 
the Glen, as you dubbed us, remain in 
a state of amaze, as if the Castle of Alad- 
din had by the touch of a wand sprung up 
in the wilderness, when least expected, 
and enchanted princesses wakened to 
life, and as if we ourselves were within 
the ring of enchantment, living over a 
second edition of the Arabian Nights, 
wishing that instead of a " thousand ancl 
one nights," there might be as man}- as 



25 



the days of our pilgrimage, though I know i 
not whether the others have discovered 
Schehezerade. | 

A call for attention and silence from 
Mr. Montgomery, interrupted the gallant 
speech, and we all lent our ears to "■ Mine 
Host.'' 

"Our good friends," said he, "have 
come hither with a deep plot laid, whether 
in memoriam of the ever-to-be-remem- 
bered 5th of November Gunpowder Plot, 
or no, "the deponent saith not," but the 
day seemeth favorable to plotting both of 
the Guy Fawkes sort, and the kindly. They 
have just unfolded their deep laid plans 
deputing me to reveal them, and bespeak 
a gentle hearing. This day week, being 
the anniversary of the opening of their 
Bachelor's Hall, the Spinsters of Spinster 
Hall, with the Pater and Mater Familias 
thereof, are bidden to kee^) the anniver- 



sary with them, and launch them safely 
upon the sea of another year." 

The proposition was received with ac- 
clamation, and in the exuberance of my 
delight, I called out, " Oh, let us come, 
and be received in costume, that the 
evening be an evening to be remembered, 
a day set apart, with nothing of the ordi- 
nary about it." 

This, too, was received with applause 
and amid merry anticipations and chal- 
lenges, the adieus and good-nights were 
said, but not without the Black Knight 
(Mr. Mortimer) finding the fitting moment 
in which to whisper, "I shall discover 
Schehezerade in whatever costume she 
chooses to disguise herself." Why do I 
remember and ponder thus over his words? 
What are they to me ? " What's Hecu- 
ba to me, or I to Hecuba ?" 



26 



CHAPTER III. 



November 13th. It is past the hour, 
dear Journal, of "nights dark arch the 
key-stone," so that I must write my date 
13th, though my story is of the 12th. Our 
eagerly anticipated reception is over, ex- 
cept as it stands out in memory as a fade- 
less pleasure. The influence of ihc "witch- 
ing'hour" is on me, and as I cannot 
sleep, I will unburthen my little basket 
of the marvelous before "I lay me down 
to rest." 

Very blithely busy were we in prepar- 
ing for the costume party. As there was 
no antique dress to be obtained, our 
brains and strength and time were fully 
occupied for the week in suggesting and 
arranging fancy modern dress, and the re- 
sults would have gained the approval of 
a Court of Taste. It was a success, so 
we are fully repaid for all broken backs 
and aching heads. It must be confessed, 
however, that I look and feel very like a 
sunflower nipped by the hoar frost, now 
that it is all over. The disguises were 
perfect, and " made the fun grow furious 
fast," as we " tripped the light fantastic 
toe " incognito. 

Mrs. Montgomery appeared as Queen 
Bess, in purple velvet train, trimmed with 
ermine, boddice embroidered with pearls 
(alias wax-beads) , high ruff and crown of 



brilliants (albeit not of the first water), 
and she did queen it right royally. 

Theodora in full Indian costume, and 
no graceful, nimble footed forest maiden 
ever looked prettier than she. 

Alice, as Bohemian girl, in short white 
silk skirt, scarlet boddice and headgear, 
with flowing white veil, very becoming 
and picturesque. 

Constance, as Hinda, in oriental story, 
dress blue silk, short skirt, overdress and 
veil, with the Persian Rose woven in and 
out prettily. 

And I, Rebecca, as Fortune Teller, in 
scarlet cloak, short, striped green skirt, 
black stockings and slippers, with red 
lacings and bows, hat with black and red 
feathers, dancing and singing roundelays, 
such as "I can tell of the future ; I cau 
tell of the past ; I can tell of the gold 
that's too bright to last ; I can tell of the 
maiden whose bonny bright een, are the 
loveliest and sweetest that ever were 
seen." 

You would have wondered how and 
where, in a village like this, the costumes 
could have been procured. 

The gentlemen had exercised their wits 
quite as ingeniously and cleverly. Mr. 
Montgomery was a King, " every inch a 
kins." 



27 



On entering we were received by a 
superb rov/hatan (Mr. Montague), a sul- 
tan, whom I afterwards recognized as the 
'' saxon haired laddie," Mr. Graham. 
A Count (Mr. Carlton), a perfect bur- 
lesque, and a Brigand (Mr. Mortimer), 
who looked magniticent, with strikingly 
characteristic dress and ornaments. 

The Great Mogul received us with pro- 
found salaams and genuflexions, and 
''more than oriental scrupulosity," con- 
vulsing us with laughter, while the Count 
overwhelmed us with the most exagger- 
ated attentions possible in Sir Fopling. 
Powhatan never for a moment forgot his 
sublime dignity, or laconic, poetic speech, 
and was truly a study, while the Brigand 
was bewitchingly magnificent enough to 
have bewitched half the girls in Christen- 
dom, commanding admiration and en- 
chaining attention irresistibly. 

Their serene Highnesses were soon en- 
throned in chairs of state, with the Great 
Mogul as royal guest at their right hand, 
and the royal company gathered at the 
royal feet, and paid court industriously 
to their majesties and each other. 

"Why come my pale brothers," ex- 
claimed Powhatan, with majestic mourn- 
fulness, "from the land of the morning, 
crossing the big rivers, to cut down our 
forests and dig caves in our hunting 
grounds. The prints of our moccasins 
are wiped away from the valley of the 
Kenawha. Where of old we chased the 
deer and sang our bold war songs the 



great forests arc hewn down, and the 
sound of your hammers resound." 

"Come with us, and we will do thee 
good," responded His Highness. "Dry 
your tears, and with the spirit with which 
you followed the war-path, follow us in 
our excavations and mines, and we will 
teach you the arts and blessings of civil- 
ization and true happiness." 

" Can the broken harp-string give forth 
music?" he returned, "or water spilled 
upon the earth be gathered ? No, the 
heart of the Bed Man is broken ; never 
more can its strings vibrate with pl^^as- 
ure. The blood of^his brothers has been 
spilled, not a drop of my blood courses 
through the veins of any. I shall pass 
away as the mist before the sun. I come 
only to ask to lay my weary bones in yon- 
der mound, and to beg you to hold it 
sacred as you hope to sleep near the 
graves of your kindred." 

" We will share with you our milk and 
meal," pleaded his highness, " if you will 
tarry and learn of us. We will be your 
brothers." 

"Can a tree that is dead put forth 
green leaves," was his mournful re- 
ply, " can it blossom, and bear fruit, and 
be again a nesting place for birds. No, 
Powhatan longs to depart. He makes no 
new friends, but follows after his loved 
ones to the happy hunting grounds. 
Would you have him cover himself with 
ruffles like a woman, or adorn himself 
like yonder popinjay. No, no, Powhatan 



28 



has stood through a long life, proud of 
the form the Great Spirit gave him, deck- 
ing himself but with the war paint and 
feathers that strike terror to the heart of 
his foes. He would feel doubly down- 
trodden, were his limbs fettered with 
tight garments, and he were manacled at 
throat and wrist, as is he, tiptoeing like a 
silly maiden, instead of treading the 
tread of a brave. Ko, 'An unwilling 
maiden makes an unhappy wigwam,' 
and so doth an unwilling guest. 1 am 
a blazed pine, in a clearing of the pale 
faces. My race has gone from the valley 
and hill-sides, I am alone, and there is 
none to mourn for Powhatan, no, not 
one !" 

"We would clip not a feather from the 
dying eagle, but let him gaze as it pleased 
him, on the rising or the setting sun," said 
the high and mighty Sultan, with great 
impressment. "Never before have I 
seen the red man of the forest, and I 
count myself blessed, in being able to say 
to my people, ' I have seen Powhatan, tall 
as a stately cedar, with an eye that can 
look on the sun in its strength, and a 
hand that hath not a tremor, though four 
score winters have bleached his locks. ' I 
pray thee tell us a tale of thy braves, 
that I may bear it over the seas to the 
sons and daughters of the Sun, who are 
my children in the land of the East." 

" First, tell the last of his race, if thy 
children are free, if their faces are pale. 
If they roam in the forests. If they have 



strong hearts or weak, and if they are 
oppressed by the pale faces ?" 

"We are not of the race of our pale 
brothers," replied the Mogul, "nor are 
we oppressed by them. Our skins are 
dark. Our blood is warm as you see, and 
' wild as the accents of lovers farewells, 
are the hearts which we bear, and the 
tales which we tell. ' Many of our child- 
ren roam the deserts, and live in tents, 
under the blue dome of the sky, but many 
have learned it is good to build houses, 
and wrap themselves in garments, and 
cease from following the wild beasts to 
their lair." 

"1 will listen to thee. Great Chief," 
said Powhatan, with great earnestness, 
" Do not the sons of the desert pine and 
wither like plants uprooted from the 
warm earth, when you transplant them 
into your cold towns and cities ?" 

" Some can no more be tamed than the 
wild beast of the dingle," was the reply. 
" They cannot breathe in the close air of 
towns. Such we bid go free as the birds 
and the sunbeams. Each man ' according 
to his gifts.'" 

"I am of the same race," said the 
dark-eyed Hinda, "and the swift, warm 
blood coursing through my veins, throbs 
with sympathy, and beats in unison with 
thine. Sit, sit thee down, poor weary 
one, I will watch over you, and care for 
you, and when worn, I will sing to you 
some of the songs of the desert, fresh as 



29 



the breezes thai blow through the forest. 
Stay I stay ! and live and die with us !" 

"I will sing songs of the forest," said 
th3 young Indian maiden, ''I am not of 
thy tribe, but my fathers have hunted 
with thine, for the deer and the bison. 
They have smoked together the pipe of 
peace. I have found kindness in the home 
of the pale face. I have drank of their 
cup, and ate of their bread, and been to 
them as a daughter. Let me tell thee a 
tale of my tribe, that will be in thy ear, 
as the song of the wild bird on the dear 
forest branches," and laying her hand in 
his, he went his way with her, with the air 
of a not unwilling captive, and long did 
their speech seem sweet to each other, and 
when the merry piping began none 
'' chased the hours with flying feet," more 
trippingly than they. 

Hiuda and his serene Highness found 
oriental springs of poetry opened be- 
tween them, and wandering here and 
there, and sometimes reclining in oriental 
fashion in the umbrageous shade 
of the great arm chairs, their voices 
flowed in an unbroken stream of silvery 
accents, whose tone and manner was of 
the clime of the East. They too, when 
the sound of the viol broke in upon the 
evening, obeyed the call, as if to dance 
were nature. The pretty Bohemian Girl 
and Sir Fopling gave up their spicy " wit 
combats," at the sound, to tread merry 
measures, as did the fierce, captivating 
Brisand and the little Fortune-teller, with 



her gypsy basket of prophetic rhymes ui> 
on her arm. Great sport had we the even- 
ing previous, scribbUng these same 
rhymes en famille, and there seemed no 
end to the gay conceits and fancies we so 
merrily berhymed, for sibylline distribu- 
tion. 

The King and Queen applauded gra- 
ciously our "stately steppings," and be- 
stowed their smiling favors on us. Dance 
after dance with interchange of partners, 
made the scene picturesque and bright as 
the phantasies of a dream, causing an ex- 
hilaration of spirits, unrivaled but by 
children in their unalloyed glee. We 
seemed a "companie " that had never felt 
care, or wept a tear, or known a sorrow. 

The announcement of supper was the 
prelude to still gayer bursts of merri- 
ment, sauced with gracious ceremony. 
Indeed, so charming were the bachelor 
appointments, and so in accordance with 
good taste, as to draw forth exclama- 
tions of Hercules with the distaff*, as we 
pictured them directing the skillet and 
gridiron and descanting upon their merits. 
His Royal Highness proposed instituting 
a new Order of the Gridiron, a la King 
John, the "pudding-eating monarch," 
who was so fond of Jack Pudding as to 
institute him Knight of the Gridiron, and 
give him a gridiron of gold, the ensign of 
the order, hoping that after ingratitude 
would never make them take upon their 
lips the proverb this first knight com- 
posed— "iSTot a word of the pudding." 



30 



They certainly resembled Jack in having 
their '"budget full of puns, connundrums, 
canawitchets, not to forget the quibbles 
and fly-traps, at which the king laughed 
till his sides crackt," as Dr. Arbuthnot 
tells us in one of his charming "Fric- 
asees.'' The occasion was fertile in 
mirth and merriment, and many a spicy 
•jiiot and racy jeu cVesprit were laid away 
in memory for future enjoyment. 

Often, in quiet moments, there is a res- 
urrection of such memories, in all their 
tirst freshness and piquancy, and the 
laugh comes back to our lips as at first. 
These will often be rolled under the 
tongue as sweet morsels, while we relish 
and taste them over, drop by drop, mor- 
sel by morsel. 

The " all's over," which happens to all 
fetes, flashed sadly on our consciousness 
when their majesties sounded the " note 
of farewell," and we regretfully took it 
up and passed out into the beautiful 



" Throu2:h the slowly mellowing avenues, 
And solitary passes of the wood." 

The prettiest scenes are too sacred to 
be repeated even in your ear, dear Fa- 
miliar. When the dashing brigand crossed 
the little fortune-teller's hand with silver, 
and asked her to read the stars for him, 
calling her thereafter the sibyl of his fate, 
and after the merry peeps into futurity 
wpre ended, letting her peep into his 
past, and wander through the fields of his 



childhood and foUow the steps of his boy- 
hood even into the dreams of manhood, 
handing her on parting a precious copy of 
a precious poem as a keepsake. On one 
of the ambrosial nights the Ettrick Shep- 
herd said, "Few things in this weary 
world sae delightful as keepsakes I Kor 
do they ever, to my heart, at least, 
nor to my een, ever lose their tender, 
their powerful charm. For what is a 
keepsake but a material memorial o' a 
spiritual happenins' ? Something sub- 
stantial through whose instrumentality 
the shadowy past may resettle on the 
present, — till a bit metal, or a bit jewel, 
or a bit lock o' hair, or a bit painted paper, 
shall suddenly bring the tears into your 
startled and softened een, by a dear, 
delightful, overwhelming image of Life 
in Death." 

To which Kit Korth answereth : " Of 
all keepsakes, memorials, relics, most 
tenderly, most devoutly, James, do I 
love a little lock of hair I and, oh I when 
the head it beautified has long mouldered 
in the dust, how spiritual seems the un- 
dying glossiness of the sole remaining 
ringlet! All else gone to nothing, save 
and except that soft, smooth, burnished, 
golden and glorious fragment of the ap- 
pareling that once hung in clouds and 
sunshine over an angel's brow ! Next 
to a lock of hair, James, is a brooch, or a 
ring that has been worn by a beloved 
friend." 

Shepherd — "Or something of one's 



31 



own writing, a poem, perhaps ; for there's 
something unco affectionate in manu- 
scripp." 

These words have been running through 
my brain in the long hour I have spent 
dreaming over this bit of manuscript. 
Shall I copy it for you ? Ah ! yes, if true 
to the compact of confiding to this secret 
chamber all that saddens and gladdens 
me. 

THE MYSTERY OF REMINISCENCE. 

Who and what gave to me the wish to woo 

thee? 
Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee? 
Who made thy glances to my soul the link ? 
Who made me burn thy vf ry breath to drink ? 
My life in thine to sink ? 

As from the conqueror's unresisted glaive, 
Flies without strife, subdued, the ready slave, 
So when to life's unguarded foot I see 
Thy gaze draw near and near triumphantly, 
Yields not my soul to thee ? 

Why from its lord doth thus my soul depart ? 
Is it because its native home thou art ? 
Or were they brothers in the days of yore ? 
Twin-bound, and in the links they bore 
Sigh to be bound once more ? 

Were once our beings blent and intertwining ? 
And therefore still my heart for thee is pining 1 
Knew we the light of some extinguished sun ? 
The joys remote of a bright realm undone, 
Where once our souls were one ? 

Yes, it is so ! And thou wert bound to me 
In the long vanished hours eternally ; 
In the dark, troubled tablets which enroll 
The Past — my Muse behold this blessed scroll, 
•' One with thy love — my soul." 



Oh, yes ! I learned in awe, when gazing there, 
How once, one bright inseparate life we were, 
How once, one glorious essence, as a god, 
Unmeasured space, our chainless footsteps trod, 
All Nature our abode. 

Round us, in waters of delight, for ever 
Voluptuously flowed the heavenly nectar river. 
We were the master of the soul of things. 
And where the sunshine bathed Truth's mountain 
sprinijs, 
Quivered our glancing wings. 

Weep for the godlike life we lost afar. 
Weep ! thou and I, its shattered fragments are, 
And still the unconquered yearning we retain, 
Sigh to restore the rapture and the reign, 
And grow divine again. 

And therefore came to me the wish to woo thee, 
Still lip to lip to cling for aye unto thee, 
This made thy glances to my soul the link. 
This made me burn thy very breath to drink, 
My life in thine to sink. 

Thou too, — Ah ! there thy gaze upon me dwells, 
And thy young blush the tender answer tells, 
Yes, with the dear relation still we thrill. 
Both lives — tho' exiles from the homeward hill. 
One life, all glowing still. 

How beautiful is the Platonic notion 
that souls were united in a former state, 
and their yearning is ever for reunion. 
And how beautifully this little thing illus- 
trates the idea. How seldom, among all 
the friends we have, and real friends, too, 
if we may judge by their kindness, do we 
really meet with one that we wish to take 
to our hearts? What is that mystic link 
that unites some persons? Thoughts of 
whom create warm, living feeling in us. 



32 



Not the calm complacence with which we 
look upon those ia whom we have confi- 
dence, whose characters inspire us with 
respect, but a lively, moving interest, as 
if the soul would go forth from its clay 
tenement to embrace a kindred spirit. In 
your sphere, dear Familiar, do there ever 
come upon you momentary impressions, 
as if from the far distant past? 80 dimmed 
in their long passage that you can attach 
to them no definite shape, moving upon 
the mind as shadows across the water. 
A look, a word, or perhaps a strain 
of music, calls it up, and while we are in- 
quiring, *' Whence this undefined yet 
strong association," it is gone never to be 
recalled. I have thought that perhaps 
these may be remembrances of things 
seen and felt in infancy, and therefore 
shadowy and fleeting. I must ask the 
good giver of the poem if he has ever ex- 
perienced anything of this sort? I should 
like to know if this is peculiar to me. I 
do not believe it is. Perhaps I cannot 
express myself with clearness. It is im- 
possible for me to find just the words I 
want, but if he has ever had any of these 
crotchets in his head, he will understand 
me. I once mentioned this thing to an 
acquaintance of fine mind and education. 
She opened her eyes in astonishment at 
my vagaries, as I have no doubt she 
thought them, and could not say she had 
ever had any impressions of whose origin 
she was ignorant. Blessed satisfaction ! 
But I am not satisfied, and I rejoice in it. 



I will not give up all the mysterious 
though fleeting shapes and sounds of 
beauty that come to me. All the yearn- 
ing to know whence they come, and 
whether in the far-off eternity they will 
be always with me. I would not give up 
these lor the profoundest satisfaction. 
Visions of beauty that come to me in the 
dark night, when sleep flies from me. 
Hopes bright and joyful as immortality, 
that light up the deepest night, and 
make me feel so rich, richer iar than 
many who lie down to quiet slum- 
bers, and rise up in the enjoyment of 
home and wealth and every other bless- 
ing. That in my soul there burns a 
light, steady, bright, ever becoming 
steadier, brighter, thanks be to Him who 
has in His infinite grace appointed me to 
such a portion. A portion of which I am 
more unworthy than it is possible for 
words to describe or heart to conceive. 
Yes, I must talk to the Black Knight of 
this. I have such a certainty when with 
him that he will know just what is right, 
what is true, what is good. I feel as I 
imagine the flower feels when the sun 
shines upon it, and the beams not only 
steal into its heart and warm it, but under 
its influence the leaves unfold, one by one, 
until the most secret hidden ones at the 
heart's core open to the rays. He not 
only pours out from his fullness, but draws 
out from me thoughts and feelings I never 
before ventured to put into words. Why 
is it? In what consists his power? Has 



33 



he obtained my being's key, and thereby 
unlocks the secret chambers of my soul? 
Can it be the key is Love? I, who have 
enrolled myself in the Calendar of Women 
sufficient unto themselves ; who have 
adopted the famous mot of Marguerite of 
Austria, '' In fortune, or misfortune, there 
shall be one woman strong of heart." 
Am I surrendering the citadel at the first 
storming? Have a care ! have a care, 
Rebecca ! I find it necessary to say for the 
first time. A strange feeling comes over 
me in his presence. A subtle, indefinable 
sense of intoxicating sweetness in the air, 
as if I were coming under the influence of 
some soft spell or charm. Is it because he too 
feels the same that he gave me this poem? 
I will treat it as if it were but a question 
of philosophy, with no possible personal 
application or interpretation. I will ask 
him to tell me of Plato's reasonings upon 
it ; and that he may see that I do not 
think them peculiar to la helle passion, or 
that they necessarily have their origin in 
Love, I will speak of Bishop Tegner's 



allusion to such impressions in " The 
Children of the Lord's Supper," when he 

says : 

" Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an Ex- 
ile, the SiDirit 

Tugs at liis chains evermore, and struggles like 
flame ever upward, 

Still he i-c'calls, with emotion, his Father's mani- 
fold mansions, 

Thinks of the land of his Fathers', where blos- 
somed more freshly the flowers, 

Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with 
the winired angels, 

Then grows the earth too narrow, too close, and 
homesick for heaven, 

Longs the wanderer again, and the Spirit's 
longings are worship." 

Of course, dear Familiar, it was but as a 
text for philosophical disquisition at our 
next meeting, he threw this pebble into 
my stream of thought, that, true to our 
resolve to make the winter beautiful as 
possible to each other, we might have 
somewhat to discuss, and let our thoughts 
play in widening circles round. 



34 



CHAPTER lY. 



November 30th— St. Andrew's Day. 
In acceptance of a standing invitation 
from the High Priestess of our Home 
Altar, to dine always with us on Saints' 
Days, and High Days, the Knights of the 
Glen were with us to-day. Indeed, the 
Black Knight graciously said they could 
most truthfully take upon their lips the 
words of Charles the V. concerning Flor- 
ence, " It is too great a pleasure to be 
partaken of except upon holy days." 

"We always read in memory of 
Dickens his Christmas stories year by 
year," said Mrs. Montgomery. "There 
are just five weeks in each of which to 
read one of the seasonable carols. Will 
you not join our Readings, gentlemen, on 
each Thursday evening?" 

The tryst was made with eager joy, 
and all the more busily flew the fingers 
and played the fancies. We talked of 
marvelous carvings, and marbles, for 
holy purposes set apart. Time spent 
upon them, is surely consecrated time, 
adding something to the beauty of His 
service and worship, who has given the 
sense of beauty in form and color. It led on 
to graver themes, and the Black Knight 
likened life to " a great canvass given us 
by the good God to cover with shapes and 
hues. As we will, it shines with light 



and beauty, or reflects hard, dimmed and 
blurred shades, defaced with distorted 
lineSo If we realized each act was dip- 
ping the brush into some color on the 
pallette, and laying it on in true or devia- 
ting line, how much more carefully should 
we live. How much more harmonious 
in tone and liae the picture on the 
rapidly filling canvass would be." The 
others said many beautiful things, but 
my memory seems to have become like 
a sieve, through which everything sifts, 
except the pearls which drop from his 
lips. It must not be, and now that the 
Advent season is coming on, the time for 
new beginniugs, which are the life of 
faith, I must turn a new leaf, and look 
steadfastly upon other things. Shall I 
fly ? Invent some excuse, and go back 
to the old loneliness again ! ]Sl'o, I will 
fight the battle bravely. I should lose 
my own self-respect, fall out with my- 
self, which is the saddest falling out 
of any, did I do so. I will stay and re- 
solutely bid my heart be true unto xtself. 
I will throw myself into the Christmas 
work, and in the Christmas spirit forget 
myself, and bar out the dangerous 
thoughts that have been invidiously creep- 
ing into my life. Are there others also 
feeling this V It had not before occurred 



to me, but silting here, unfolding the 
leaves of daily living, it seems we have 
been growing more apart of late, and that 
may have caused dear Aunt Ruth's re- 
mark this evening to Cousin Harry, which 
I accidentally overheard. "One would 
think it was tSt. Valentine's Day, instead 
of St. Andrew's." Are we pairing off? 
Growing thoughtless of her and the fam- 
ily, under the influence of enchanters. 
Is there genuine feeUng underneath Con- 
stance's merry quips and jests concerning 
her " Saxon-hair'd Laddie ?" She seemed 
the very impersonation of mischief this 
afternoon, perched upon an arm of tbo 
sofa, with dancing eyes, and cheeks dim- 
pled with smiles, in melo-dramatic fashion, 
declaring herself "stricken to the heart 
with a sparkle of fine love." Ever and 
anon descending from her pedestal to 
make an escapade across the room to 
work off the exuberance of spirits. Ah ! 
but she is a merry-hearted child, grace- 
ful as a dancing fawn, of a sparkling 
wit, and pleasant fancy, which lights up 
her plain face, and makes it one of the 
pleasautest sights the eye can rest upon. 
She has accepted the advice of the mother 
in Frederika Bremer's " Home," to her 
daughter Petrea, the unfortunate pos- 
sessor of a particularly homely nose, after 
she had been vainly endeavoring to tor- 
ture it into shape. " Do as one of my 
friends did," said the mother. "She 
made herself so beloved that her nose was 
beloved too. Her friends declared that 



they saw nothing so gladly as her nose as 
it came in at the door." 

The same wise-hearted mother, who 
called another of her children, ''Thou 
beloved plain child," early to reconcile 
her to her fate. Constance, using her 
wit as a foil, by her merry sayings con- 
cerning her homeliness, converts it into 
an attraction. Telling of the peaceful 
time coming in the future, when the 
'■' bloom of ugliness" will be past. Laugh- 
ing endlessly over the depth and bright- 
ness of her cerulean orbs, her rotund 
visage, her nose — than which, she avers 
Hogarth never drew more comical curves 
— her ringlets of red, &c. Mr. Graham 
sits like one entranced beneath her wiles. 
And now that I think of it, Alice and 
Mr. Carlton seem to be playing the role 
of Beatrice and Benedict. Constance 
rallies her on His Serene Highness, but I 
had thought of it only as one of her merry 
volleys before. No tender signs appear 
in the celestial atmosphere surrounding 
Theodora and Mr. Montague. They are 
thrown together perforce, and take infinite 
delight in drawing out the resources oi' 
their fine minds for each other's delecta- 
tion. Their atmosphere is that of pure 
intellect, cloudless, clear, serene, untouch- 
ed by the "soft, auroral light of love." 
Our queenly Theodora,, how beautiful she 
is, and how beautifully she comes out, as 
her mind rubs against the flint of his, 
causing each to give off" sparks and scintil- 
lations brilliant and beautiful. They have 



strong sympathies in tastes scientific, and 
never weary of talkiuj< together. Is our 
sober spinsterhood transformed into a 
''Court of Love?" Has Cupid drawn 
his bow of Love at a venture, and pene- 
trated our cloister ? I am dazed, " clean 
daft," at the tliought. I, for one, Re- 
becca will not yield. To-morrow night, at 
the reading, I will do my little best to 
make the conversation general, — the ball 
tossing from hand to hand. 

December 1st. The tirst of a train of 
busy days. Meditating being very sys- 
tematic, we have laid out a plan of occu- 
pation for the Advent season, that by 
economy of moments we may fashion 
with our own fairy fingers gitts for all, 
beside aiding the children, and as "labors 
of love" always bring their own reward, 
I found myself singing merrily over the 
window box of pine cones and genre 
treasures for winter gardening, I was 
fashioning, as if the touches were set to 
music, again and again repeating to my- 
self a bit of rare wisdom gathered long 
ago, by experience proven true : '' What 
God may hereafter require of you, you 
must not give yourself the least trouble 
about. Everything He gives you to do, 
you must do as well as ever you can, and 
that is the best possible preparation for 
what He may want you to do next. If 
people would but do what they have to do, 
they would always find themselves ready 
for what came next." 

When the evening came, the round 



table was filled in due season. The Christ- 
mas Carol duly divided into portions for 
the readers, and most thoroughly enjoyed. 
Ghosts of Christmas past, Christmas 
present, and Christmas to come, are 
crowding the brains of each, I doubt not, 
this midnight hour. Truly has one of its 
admirers said: " If any individual story 
ever warmed a Christmas hearth, it was 
' The Christmas Carol ;' if ever solitary 
old self was converted by a book, and 
made to be merry and childlike at that 
season, 'when its' blessed Founder was 
Himself a Child,' it was by that. Think 
of all we owe it, the happy hours it has 
made us pass. It seems to me a national 
benefit, and to every man and woman 
who reads it, a personal kindness." This 
the Black Knight repeated, as he turned 
the last page lingeringly. 
To which Cousin Harry replied, 
"Lord Jeffrey wrote of it : ' Blessings 
on your kind heart, my dear Dickens ; 
and may it always be as full and as light, 
as it is kind, and a fountain of kindness 
to all within reach of its beatings.' " 

"Hood's tribute to it," said Theodora, 
"I have thought the prettiest printed one. 
Poor, dear, laughter-loving Hood, I never 
think of him without a blessing. He said : 
' It is impossible to read it without a 
glowing bosom and burning cheeks, be- 
tween love and shame for our kind, with 
perhaps a little touch of misgiving, 
whether we are not personally open, a 
crack or so, to the reproach of Words- 



37 



T7orth. The world is too much with us, 
early and late, getting and spending."* 

*' I class Dickens," said Cousin Harry, 
" among the great Eel'ormers of the 
world. There is nothing of the book- 
making spirit, which permeates so many 
ofour modern literary eftorts, in his works. 
Each one is the outgrowth of a compelling 
desire to ameliorate some wrong. What 
appeal, however passionate against the 
Beadle system could have burned into as 
many hearts, as poor Oliver Twist's cry 
of 'More, more,' in his moving story V 
How many reports of school abuses would 
have been required to draw the attention 
of the great public to them, as did the 
story of Squeers Treacle in 'Nicholas 
Nickleby.' What visiting committees 
could have made as telling an expose of 
the mysteries of Chancery, as the story 
of the 'Circumlocution Office,' and the 
' How not to do it,' in the case of ' Jarn- 
dyce vs. Jarndyce,' in 'Bleak House.' 
^\ndsoone laight go through the whole 
with the like catechism." 

"It is one secret of their marvelous 
power," replied Mr. Montague. '^The 
btrong purpose for which they were writ- 
ten is felt in every line. Twenty years 
ago Daniel Webster said that Dickens 
had already done more to ameliorate the 
condition of the English poor than all the 
statesmen Great Britain had sent into 
Patliament. What arguments against the 
debtor laws could be framed as convin- 



cing as the storv of ' The Marshalsea ' in 
' Little DorriuV'" 

"Another secret of his power," said 
Cousin Kate, "is his wonderful insight 
into the hearts of high and low, his talent 
for finding such ' unexplored romantic 
nooks in the uulikeliest natures,' draw- 
ing out the hidden poetry and ' unwritten 
music ' in their lives." 

" The names are Legion," said Theo- 
dora, " of those who could truthfully take 
upon their li^js and echo back, Landor's 
first message to Dickens: ' Tell him he has 
drawn from me more tears aud more 
smiles than are remaining to me for all 
the rest of the world, real or ideal.' " 

His characters are so real and living — 
they come to be real acquaintances, and 
excite not only warm interest, but differ- 
ent degrees of friendship and love, so that 
one parts w^ith them as from friends, long- 
ing with intensity to follow them in their 
journey aud learn of their future. I think 
of the Peggottys as living still in Austra- 
lia, with the Micawbers, and the thrill 
in my heart when Peggotty came back to 
visit Mas'r Davy and Agnes in the Lon- 
don Home, was like the great joy of wel- 
coming a long lost friend. 

"There is always a great heart beating 
through his stories," said Auntie. '* One 
feels the blood circulating through them. 
I liked his describing his purpose ; ' To 
have been to dwell on the romantic side 
of familiar things.' " 

" One could wish some of the pictures 



38 



in the third volume of ' Foster's Life,' " 
said Theodora, ''had been unsketched, 
but it contains much that is intensely in- 
teresting and deligiitful. Do you remem- 
ber his saying : 'Dickens had his creations 
always by his side. They were living, 
speaking companions. AVith them he 
was everywhere thorouuhly identified. 
He laughed and wept with them. Was 
as much elated by their fun, as cast down 
by their grief, and brought to the consid- 
eration of them a belief in their reality, 
as well as in the influences they were 
meant to exercise, which in every circum- 
stance sustained him.' " 

''I remember," said Mr. Graham, 
"reading a letter of Dickens to Lady 
IMessington, in which he says: 'I shut 
myself up for one month,, close and 
tight, Over my little Christmas ,book, 
'The Chimes.' All my affections and 
passions got twined and knotted up in it, 
and I become as hagirard as a murderer 
long before I wrote 'The End.' " 

Thus the pleasant stream of talk flowed 
on until we said, "Good-Night." 

To-morrow we are to take advantage 
of the new fallen snow for a sleigh-ride to 
town. Ghostly presences have chased 
away all mundane thoughts. 1 will to bed, 
and sleep will come with sweet refresh- 
ment. Often when settling down to quiet 
dreams I take upon my lips Hood's cry — 

" Oh ? pity the wretches who wake ! 
For they must be wretched who cannot sleep, 
When (jod Himself draws the curtain." 



December 2d. A white day in my 
calendar I Perfect I though now my pen 
moves to the " music of wailing winds 
and wintry storm." Our escapade over, 
we are quite willing to say, "Wail on, 
moan, sigh, shriek," only, if there should 
be some poor, tired, homeless wanderer 
out in the storm, God shield and have 
mercy I 

There was never a merrier companie 
than that close packed in the capacious 
sleigh, that bore us into town to-day. 
The steeds carried themselves gallantly, 
as if spirit and speed were infused into 
them by the inspiring bells, the crisp 
creaking of the snow beneath their feet, 
the exhilarating atmosphere, and m-rry 
voices ringing out upon the air. They 
certainly seemed in perfect sympathy wititi 
us, making a " harmonious whole.' " 

All were in gayest spirits. We sang — 
we. laughed. We talked. Told stories. 
Recited poems. In fact let our full hearts 
overflow with their very excess of glad- 
ness. In town we provided ourselves 
with boxes and bundles of Christmas 
materials redolent of all good and gra- 
cious things, and re-seated ourselves with- 
out a chilled member for the homeward 
drive. 

We talked of gems and cyphers. Talis- 
mans and omens. Coincidences and red- 
letter days, till we each seemed unfolding 
the most secret and subtle tastes of our 
nature. The Black Knight said t6e 
month of October had always been the 



39 



one most auspicious to him. Where- 
UjjOQ each told of the days and seasons 
that nio»t did seem to smile or frown 
upon their destinies, unveilinor the hid- 
den vein 'of superstition that, though 
scarcely acknowledged, runs deep through 
our natures. We named our favorite 
flowers, and stars, and gems, and names, 
and gave the sacred reasons. Recounted 
the anniversaries nearest and dearest in 
our heart-calendars. Told dreams, recited 
poems, and capp'd verses. " The golden 
hours on angel wings flew o'er us," and 
so sorry were we to see the rein drawn, 
to turn into the home avenue, I exclaim- 
ed, remember Home Tooke's paradox of 
the road, "" Turn to the left, and you are 
sure*to go right." The horses had already 
obeyed the ribbons, and we were dashing 
up the approach in grand style, exhilara- 
ted as if the air were wine. 

In the evening it was proposed we 
should gather up the bouquet of the ride, 
and preserve it in amber. Form as it 
were a little mythology of our own, by 
arranging in order against each one's 
name, the tastes and loves and fancies 
avowed. So we fell to work with pencils 
and pens and paper. As the saints gather 
up the good thoughts and deeds of the 
day to present as^ a bouqaet to God at 
night, so did we attempt to gather up 
these blossoms of the ride, as a bouquet 
to embalm in memory's casket. To be 
taken out in the future, " In mer^oriam," 



and gazed upon tenderly, as upon flowers 
in a herbal. 

Alice said she feared the comparison 
would prove too truthful, they would in- 
deed be but scentless, faded ghosts of 
themselves, xikc the most carefully pressed 
treasures. 

His Serene Highness (Mr. Carlton) 
said, "Nay, these are too steeped in 
sweetness. ' Like the vase in which roses 
have once been distill'd, you may break, 
you ma}'- ruin the vase if you will, but 
the scent ol the roses will hang round it 
still.'" 

"It will be well worth while to make 
the efibrt to embalm it, even should it 
prove scentless," said Theodora, "re- 
membering the saying of thePersian poet, 
' A rose-leaf is never in the way.' " 

"Yes," said her 'mirror of knight- 
hood,' Mr. Montague, "At the risk of 
its being but a 'paper nosegay,' let us 
try." 

"Oh! ye faithless ones," exclaimed 
'The Saxon-haired laddie,' "Have you 
no ' Hope-colored ribbons, ' with which to 
bind your blossoms, that you thus yield 
room to fear?" 

" The senses of the heart are exquisite- 
ly fine,' said I, "its eye and ear are 
quick to catch impressions, and these 
little souvenirs, if we have the skill to 
bind them up, may be messengers of 
beauty, and do heart service, long after 
we are ' stricken with eld.' " 

"Your picture is touching. Miss Re- 



40 



becca," said the Black Knight. "Look 
on this picture, and on that. To-da}', the 
gayest of the young ; to-morrow, taking 
out the yellow records, to warm our time- 
chilled souls, with Yule Logs of the 
Heart." 

" Kay, nay, you shall not laugh," said 
dear Aunt Kuth *, "Longfellow's words 
are as wise as poetic, when he sings : 

' Childliood is the bough where slumbered, 
Buds iiud blossoms many numbered, 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered; 
(xather, then, each flower that blows, 
While the young heart overflows, 
To adorn that tent of snows.' " 

"Ah, 3^es !" said merry Constance, trag- 
ically folding her hands across her 
breast, and uplifting her 'cerulean orbs,' 
"I already make pilgrimages to my 
' Cloister of Memories,' for comfort, 
though verily is it a ' Cloister in the De- 
sert.' " 

"Seriously, Miss Rattle-pate," said 
Auntie, "the days may come, when the 
moments devoted to gathering and pre- 
serving bouquets, such as you propose to- 
night, will seem to you, and be counted 
by you, as so many alms." 

"Consistency thou art a jewel," ex- 
claimed Constance, "only yesterday, 
Auntie, you sang to me — 

' Day by day, the promise reads, 
Daily strength for daily iieeds, 
Cast foreboding fears away, 
Take the mauua of to-day.' " 



"Will you never be serious. Merry 
Heart," returned Auntie. "That is true 
philosophy, and militates not against 
treasuring up the aroma of 'romance 
days ' against the time when your ' earth- 
ly neighborship ' shall be passed." 

" I have a precious old ' tear-bottle,' " 
said the irrepressible, " exhumed from the 
dust of Pompeii. If I could but possess 
one for smiles ; oh I for a smile-bottle 
against the day Auntie prophesies, when 
I shall ' sit like Philomel all day, with my 
breast against a thorn.' " 

"The gods forbid," said "tlie Saxon- 
haired laddie," "you shall give the first 
touch to the smile-bottle of the evening, 
and so christen the eflbrt to preserve our 
' radiant matutinal romance. ' Against 
your name, record the idiosyncrasies of 
taste and nature confessed this morn- 
ing." 

"As well try to gather the exhaled 
breath of flowers. One would indeed need 
the patience of Job, who should try to 
gather up the idle nothings that fall from 
the tripping tongue of the little maiden. 
If you want a ' written smile ' you must 
write it yourself. As the children say, 
' If you want any more you must sing it 
yourself.' " 

" The charmed moments fly I" replied 
her persistent cavalier ; " the pen is pois- 
ed in air, awaiting your touch." 

" Indeed I am in earnest," she replied. 
" Charles Lamb says : 'Some brains will 
endure but one skimming, ' and mine are 



41 



akin to those. Kot that I am in ' dissym- 
pathy ' with the movement," she said, 
with mocking tone and gesture ; " but I 
cannot live a poem and write it, too. Of 
my powers to serve you in this way I am 
' faithless, hopeless, charityless. ' What- 
ever I might indite would be entirely de- 
void of romantic flavor. Indeed, we are 
all such 'modest, crimson, wee-tipped 
flowers.' I propose Cousin Harry shall 
play the scribe, and save our blushes, 
while all pour into his inkstand fragrant 
hieroglyphs. ' Little and often soon fills 
the pouch,' saith the homely proverb." 

With mock ceremony, '"Mine Host" 
was installed in the Chair of State, which 
honor he accepted with due genuflexions 
and graciousness, heading the perfumed 

'"A Smile Bottle." 

Several mottoes were suggested, among 
which were recorded, "Folly is sweet in 
its season ;" "A little folly now and then 
is relished by the wisest men;" "Folly 
sauced with discretion ;" " Haunted by a 
choir of glorious ghosts, '^ and "Pebbles 
from the stream of remembrance." 

A more gleesome hour never sent out 
echoes for remembrance than passed over 
us, a? we gathered up the jewels of the 
ride, and set them down " in gold on last- 
ing pillars." Such wat-combats^ conver- 
sational figurants, and "rhymes at ran- 
dom flung," as might have made "a 
looker on in Yenice," believe us a joy in- 
toxicated group. 



Finally the palimpsest was covered 
with characters, to which " memory, gen- 
tle pilgrim, holds the key," whose breath 
will make them stand out in lines over 
the merry sleigh-ride, in the years to 
come. 

I had almost forgotten to tell you, dear 
gossip, that Cousin Harry after his in- 
stallation entered upon the duties of his 
ofiice with, " I suppose it is parliamentary 
for me to appoint my own assistant. I 
therefore nominate my ' better half ' as 
chatechizer,knowing with a perfect knowl- 
edge her rare gifts in that role." The 
nomination was received with accla- 
mation, and the time-honored cry of 
" Worthy, worthy, she is worthy !" The 
position was graciously accepted by the 
graceful Hostess, whose beautiful image 
I would I could portray in words, that 
she might rise before you, dear Familiar, 
in her dear, proper person. Tall, grace- 
ful, of most rare and gracious dignity, 
exqusitely chiselled features, and deli- 
cious voice, every article of dress in per- 
fect taste. Indeed, it would seem to 
break her Being's law to have anything 
inelegant or unartistic about her. Ail 
her belongings bear the legible inscrip- 
tion, " I belong to a lady." Her influence 
over those with whom she is brought in 
contact is remarkable — an induence I 
have often heard acknowledged years 
after it was exercised, as thrilling through 
the whole of after life. It is one of the 
1 ambitions of her life to be a helper to 



42 



every one she meets. I remember years 
ago hearing her say, when rallied upon 
puzzling indefatigably over some intri- 
cate fancy stitch, and mastering it, "I 
never neglect an opportunity of learning 
anything that may touch a spring by 
which I may gain influence. These 
homely, simple interests are often an 
*Open Sesame ' to quiet natures." 

I always forget everything when launch- 
ed upon the sea of her perfections, and 
now have nearly lost the '' thread of my 
discourse." 

"According to the rules of the Order 
of Chivalry," she said, "we will com- 
mence with the Fair ones. As it would be 
odious to ' choose among goddesses, ' I 
will take you in the order in which you 
are sitting." 

"Theodora, confess thy chosen Flower, 
and why thou lovest it V" 

While at the 'Bound Table," dear Ke- 
positorium, I thought to append my copy 
of the" Smile Bottle' to these sheets for your 



delectation, but as I finished transcribing, 
the sometime Brigand, as ever the "mir- 
ror of courtesy," drew off a fair copy for 
my treasuring, and possessed himself of 
the one I had. Here it is produced in the 
highest style of art — edition de luxe — too 
precious to be laid with commonplaces. 
The little record looks so demure and 
quiet, one would hardly imagine it the 
child of such madly, merry hours. To 
other eyes it may be as vapid and flavor- 
less as last year's violets, but with us each 
little word touches a secret spring within, 
which vibrates with sweet harmony. As 
I look at it, the whole scene rises as if 
called up by magic wand, and not only 
the panorama of the roadside and land- 
scape, but the very tones and smiles come 
back that " made the dear scene of en- 
chantment more dear." Instead of ap- 
pending the keepsake, I will try and give 
you a pen-and-ink sketch of the scene at 
the Round Table, though fearing all the 
fun and sparkle will have effervesced. 



43 



CHAPTEK V. 



Theodora in her queenly, self-]Oossessed, 
reposelul way answered. (It was well 
she led the way, as we caught her spirit, 
and gathered our wits by the time our 
turn came.) '' The liose is fairest in my 
sight. I love it for its form, aod varying 
hues and fragrance. For its language — 
love — and for its sweet associations. Poets 
have embalmed it. Painters immortal- 
ized it. I love to think of it as having 
given name to the Holy Land, where Solo- 
mon sang its praises, as the word Syria 
appears to be derived from a beautiful 
and delicate rose, for which the country 
has always been famous. If I wero to 
tell a story, and had bright wings of fancy 
and imagination with which to enchant 
my listeners with visions of delight, I 
should lay the scene in one of the gardens 
of the Nile, where the roses are unequal- 
ed ; where mattresses are made of their 
petals for persons of rank to repose upon ; 
where it is said the celebrated princsss 
Nourmahal caused an entire caoal to be 
tilled with rose-water, upon which she 
took her pleasure with the Great Mogul. 
I share that pleasure often as the faintest 
breath of the attar of rose floats round 
me. For it was the sun's influence dis- 
engaging the essential oil of the rose from 
the water, and causing it to float upon the 



surface, that led to its discovery. And of 
all sweet odors, suggestive of all things 
fair, from white kid gloves to tender sen- 
timents, this subtle scent is most deli- 
cious. Forgiven be the folly that led to so 
gracious a gift. I cannot believe Cleo- 
patra wholly bad, when she found plea- 
sure in having the royal apartments cov- 
ered deep with rose-leaves, nor the dying 
Triumvir, when he begged her to cover 
his tomb with roses. I give willing cre- 
dence when fabulous writers account for 
the delicious perfume of the rose, by tell- 
ing us that love at a feast of Olympus, in 
the midst of a light and lively dance, 
overturned with a stroke of his wing, a 
cup of nectar, which precious liquor fall- 
ing on the rose embalmed it with that 
heavenly fragrance which it still retains. 
I listen not unwillingly, detecting 'the 
soul of goodness in things evil,' to the 
Mussulman's belief, that the rose sprang 
from the sweat of Mahomet, and honor 
the feeling that will not suff'er a rose-leaf 
to lie upon the ground, nor permit any 
one to tread upon this sacred flower. 
"Were I ever to commit the absurdity of 
falling in or out of love, I would adopt 
the floral language of the East. The 
presenting of a rose-bud with thorns and 
leaves should be understood to express 



44 



both fear and hope. If the thorns were 
taken ofi' before returned, it should signi- 
fy that one had everything to hope. If 
the leaves were stripped off that the re- 
ceiver had everything to fear. I cherish 
the Persian belief that there is a peculiar 
sympathy between the rose and the 
nightingale, and as peculiar an antipathy 
between the rose and the beetle. I like 
the Turkish custom of sculpturing a rose 
on the monument of all ladies who die 
unmarried, and as the funeral train 
passes scattering multitudes of them from 
the windows. 

'^ Therefore you see the singular appro- 
priateness of a spinster vowed and sworn, 
playing the role of nightingale, aud lav- 
ishing her affections upon the queenly 
flower. A rose without thorns or leaves 
is my crest. Nothing to fear or hope, ex- 
cept what cometh from the heart of the 
rose. Ijf ever my wings of fancy grow, a 
feast of roses only will they spread. Long 
ago ' I flung away all ambition, ' except 
the daily strife of living the life of a rose, 
shedding sweetness in its own little sphere, 
living and dead. Pledged in life and in 
death to the Hose of Sharon, Sub Rosa 
Crux." 

"Write," said Mrs. Montgomery, 
'The rose of the Kanawha loveth the 
rose, and chooseth it for her crest. In 
years of the future, kind friends, when 
you wish to visit the Rose, you will find 
her in a rose-planted cottage, encircled 
with hedges of roses, with some rosy cogno- 



men, as the surroundings may warrant — 
Rosenhayn, Rosenvik, or the like. Roses 
climbing in at the windows and doors, and 
blooming on all the tables iand chairs, 
with that delicate odor of the rose about 
her, which always accompanied and per- 
vaded like an atmosphere the heroine of 
Frederika Bremer's home," which will 
guide you unerringly to her shrine. May 
lifd be all couleur de rose to our ' Queen of 
the Roses.'" 

"Alice, we wait for your choice, and 
reasons for the love that is in you," 
called La Dame Chatelaine. 

" Yiolets, dear, for their beauty and as- 
sociation. Loved in the time of child- 
hood, when I sought them by the mossy 
nooks and in the merry wild -woods, 
chaunting, 'Yiolets, Yiolets, open your 
eyes I' and in later days, when I have 
lain hour after hour on * banks of Yio- 
lets,' to the present, when their sight 
awakens a sense of joy that brings tears 
to my eyes. The scent of the wild-wood 
violet is indescribably sweet to me, and is 
the atmosphere I would have surround 
me, wherever I may be. Like Theodora, 
I bless the perfumer's art that has taught 
the distillation of the very soul of this 
flower. Its breath carries me as on in- 
visible wings to the old 'mossy honey 
pots,' where I have dreamed the violet 
dreams of my life. They lose fragrance 
and simplicity by transplantation to gar- 
dens, but when transformed by the arts 
of the florist into Pansies, rich and rare, 



45 



they still have a human look about them, 
aud I always feel as if looking into a face, 
when gaziug into their eyes. ''There's 
Pansies, that's for thought.' They love 
best to nestle in quiet, shady places, 
under a shadow which they love, and I 
find myself ever in sympathy with them." 

"Write, the violet loveth the violet. 
May she find a ^ mossy stone ' on which 
to rest, beneath a shadow which she loves, 
and her life be passed near banks of vio- 
lets." 

"Constance, we wait your choice, and 
the logic thereof." 

"The Sunflower," she demurely an- 
swered, ignoring all consciousness of the 
shout with which the announcement was 
greeted. " It was all golden glory in my 
childhood. I cannot see one now without 
transportation to the dear old kitchen- 
garden, where they raised their stately 
heads like sentinels, in lines straight and 
regular as the line of poplar trees before 
the house. Visions of chickens, peculiar 
chickens of an excellent savor, even 
shanghais, graceful withal, that did daily 
peep of gridirons, and ripening sunflower 
seeds rise on my admiring sight, while my 
mouth waters with expectant relish. 
Children of the sun, with crowns of gold 
upon their heads. All golden, like the 
yellow hair of mermaids aud my own. 
"A fellow feeling makes us wondrous 
kind," and from it may have sprung my 
love for them and mermaids. My favor- 
ite song, in which I make the night owl 



shriek with envy, is that which compares 
my young heart to the ' Sunflower that 
turns on its god when He sets, the same 
face that it turned when he rose.' Then 
I would have the goods the gods provide 
packed close as 'seeds in sunflowers.' 
In the touching spirit of the Russians, re- 
member me by sunflowers !" 

" Write Sunflower agaiust Constance's 
name I May tlie side the sun shines on 
ever be hers I Her home Sunny side, and 
all the gifts brought forth by the Sun I" 

After the merry words called forth by 
her sallies were ended, to attempt serving 
which, has the effect of " wit fried in 
steaks," our Catechist brought us to order 
with, "Rebecca, what will your song be 
to-night?" 

"Of Lilies! I love the whole family 
and tribe. Dearest and best the Lily of 
the Yale— 'Our Lady's Belli' Cherish- 
ing especial fondness for the Day Lily, 
Lenten Lilies, Ascension Lilies, and Lil- 
ies of the Pond, with full meed of admi- 
ration for the stately Lilies of Japan. 
Madonnas and Angels appear ever to my 
thought with lilies in their hands, and I 
look for the good Angels of life and death 
to come wuth lilies for life and death's an- 
nunciation. Spotless and pure, one can 
imagine them blooming in the celestial 
country without change or transfigura- 
tion. The Lily texts of the Bible are 
my chosen ones. 'The Lily among 
thorns'.' 'Feed in the gardens and to 
gather Lilies ;' 'I am the Lily of the 



46 



Valley ;' ' His lips like lilies, droppino; 
sweet smelling mj^rrhl' 'He feedeth 
among the lilies ;' ' Consider the lilies 
how they grow, they toil not, they spin 
not ; and yet I say unto you, that Solo- 
mon in all his glory was not arrayed like 
one of these.' " 

" Write Lilies against Eebecca's name. 
Unstained and pure as the Lily may she 
ever be. As the priestesses of Isis wore 
lily wreaths, so may we see her in the 
lighted temple of home crowned with 
lilies, a home fair as the corolla of a 
water lily where the Indian Cupid has 
his abode." 

"We would all turn Lotus Eaters for 
her sake, I am sure," said Mr. Mortimer. 

"Mr. Montague, your favorite flower, 
and why," saidCousin Kate. 

"Iv}', if I may be allowed to consider 
plant or leaf as synonym for flower. A 
wall covered with Ivy. An Ivy covered 
Church, or house are inexpressibly beau- 
titul to me. There is sentiment in its 
way of creeping over old ruins, clinging 
so tenaciously to whatever its tendrils 
twine about. A tenderness like that of a 
yearning heart, in its eager hiding of un- 
sightly places, and flaws, and rifts. A 
truthful earnestness and devotion in its 
loving purpose, that wins not only love 
and admiration, but solid, honest, respect 
and honor. Like the beautifully becom- 
ing robe of Charity it adorns w^hatever it 
veils, and retains its beauty through all 
the shocks and chills of time, bright. 



fresh, green, and enduring. ' Oh ! a rare 
old plant is the Ivy Green, creeping 
where no life is seen.' An Ivy Leaf, in its 
chaste, true, severe beauty be my chosen. " 
"Write, ' The Ivy Green,' against Mr. 
Montague's name. May he pass his days 
in the shade of an Ivy covered home, and 
a true love creep in and out of his life, iu- 
separate from its windings. Unlike the 
Ivy only, in never clinging round a worth- 
less thing." 

"Mr. Graham, you have the floor." 
" I love best a little flower that comes 
in the spring time, in deep wood nooks, 
but little known. Bearing a stupendous 
name, for on such ' Latin thorns ' do bo- 
tanists love to hang our simple flowers. 
Don't laugh, when I name Pyxidanthera 
Barbulata. Never have I neard what we 
call a 'common name,' a 'pet name,' 
given the woodland beauty. It grows 
like a trailing moss. Its leafage exquis- 
itely beautiful and delicate. In blossom- 
time it blossoms into myriads of won- 
drously delicate, star-like white flowers. 
Forming long wreaths of white and green, 
which can scarcely be thrown together in 
any way that is not beautiful, and yet 
capable of most artistic arrangement. I 
looked for it vainly in our woods last 
spring, and imported some at once, as I 
miss it as one misses the greeting of a 
friend. Spring is scarcely spring to me, 
without its good-morrow after the winter, 
any more than a home is home, with its 
dearest member away. It is Christmas 



47 



without the Holly Branch ; Easter with- 
out its flowers. I feel always like giving 
it the child's greeting, 'Good-morning, 
you are looking as pretty as ever, ' adding, 
' What have you and I been dreaming 
the long winter through V Purity, faith- 
fulness, and beauty are its dower. I carry 
a sketch of one of its clusters with me, as 
I would the face of a friend. It is one of 
my mentors. If anything but truth would 
have passed current at the confessional, I 
should have named another, to avoid the 
laugh I feared would greet its high sound- 
ing name." 

So saying, he took from a sacred fold in 
his note-book, a lovely little sketch of the 
woodland darling, for our admiration. It 
was a stranger to all, and received cor- 
dial interest and homage. Cousin Kate 
asking the privilege of copying it. 

"Write Pyxidanthera Barbulata, as 
Mr. Graham's flower. May it thrive 
wherever he goes, and flowers as pure, 
and beautiful bloom in his heart's gar- 
den." 

"Mr. Carlton, we wait your confession!" 

"Mignonette, meaning literally Little 
Darling, is indeed my darling. Its breath 
is as the breath of my chfldhood, and 
comes blended subtly with the odor of 
iievv-mown hay from the meadow-land of 
youth. It carries me as upon odorous 
])ini()ns to the mignonette bed from which 
I chose the first ofierings of the morning 
to the beautiful mother, who«e favorite 
flower it was, and who day and night, 



summer and winter, wore it in her bosom, 
keeping a fresh window-box growing 
through all the frost and cold. It was an 
avowal of passion in my young days to 
present to a little girl a sprig of mignon- 
ette to wear in her gossamer hat. Home 
could not be home to me, were not the 
odor of mignonette floating through it, 
like a cloud of incense." 

" Write Mignonette against Mr. Carl- 
ton's name. May he find his mignonette 
and the fragrant home of his dreams." 
Mr. Mortimer, last, but not least !" 
'' 'Trailing Arbutus ' " — ' In mine eye,' 
the sweetest flower that blows. The 
darling of the spring. I look forward to 
going 'Arbutusing,' as in childish par- 
lance it is termed, with the relish of a 
child. I love to push aside the coarse, 
thick green leaves that cover and shield 
it so perfectly, that it contrives to put 
forth its tiny buds and blossoms before 
the ice is melted on the hills. I feel as I 
discover the hidden treasures, as if I had 
found my youth again, and the smiles 
that made life glad and beautiful, smiled 
up to me again. I endorse Beecher fully 
when he says, ' It is the sweetest flower 
that opens to the northern sky. It is con- 
tent, though lying upon the very ground. 
It braves the coldest winters. All the 
summers cannot elaborate a perfume so 
sweet as that which seems to have been 
born of the very winter. It is like the 
breath of love. The pure white ard pink 
blossoms, in sweet clusters, lie hidden un- 



48 



der leaves or grass, and often under un- 
timely snows. Blessings on thee ! Thou 
art the fairest, most modest, and sweetest- 
breathed of all our flowers. ' It has a voice 
foe me, and like Mr. Graham, I carry its 
image wherever I go, though instead of 
wearing it upon my heart, it hangs upon 
my wall. ' Blest be the art that can 
immortalize. The art that baffles time's 
decay,' and makes this picture a silent 
partner for life, with the Trailing Arbu- 
iQS verse below it. 
" ' Walk life's dark path, they seem to say, 

With love's diviue forekuo\vin2:. 
That where man sees but withered leaves 

God sees the sweet flowers growiu<j.' " 

*'My Bride could scarcely be ' all my 
fancy paints ' her, were she not wreathed 
with the ' May.' Its indescribable, subtle 
breath floating round, and clothing her as 
in a- cloud-like drapery, an impalpable 
sense of delight." 

' ' Write, Trailing Arbutus, against Mr. 
Mortimer's name. May life be id him one 
long Arbutus time — an unending spring 
of love and happiness, filled with joys 
sweet as his ' sweet-breath'd flower.' Zo- 
roaster states that every flower is appro- 
priated to a particular angel. The iiose 
IS consecrated to an archangel of the 
highest order, so it is well the lover of the 
Queen of Flowers should voice first her 
cnoice of seasons." 

"I hardly think," replied Theodora, 
"I shall prove a new and improved edi- 
tion of Thompson while discoursing on 



the seasons. As avowed lover of the 
Uose, I should love best the month of 
roses, but consistency is a rare jewel. 
Coelebs would not have ended his search 
with me when sent forth with the motto, 
' expect not perfection, but look for consis- 
tency.' September is my favorite month. 
I love it from association, for the poetry 
of its mellow days aud nights. Summer 
iilory without fervid heats and languors— 
the beauty of maturity — blossoms and 
fruits hanging on its laden boughs. I 
was born in September, and the whitest 
days of my life have been enhanced by its 
soft airs and rich delights. Methinks it 
would be sweet to fade away then, as the 
flower fades and the leaf withers, because 
the fruitage is ripe and the harvest near." 

I will not attempt, dear Familiar, to 
gather up the "•crumbs of animated con- 
versation" that fell between the avowa.ls 
of taste, but simply copy from my "smile 
bottle." 

Alice, June. The "Month of Roses." 
The " leafy month ; " I would fain be the 
nightingale among Theodora's roses — 
" iioses plenty, roses plenty, and one 
nightingale for twenty." Then do I love 
best to go "A V^ioleting" — with the 
whole world steeped in Violet sweetness. 
Summer, with the freshness of Spring, its 
tender green and grace, when the out- 
spread glory seems like a new revelation, 
after the long winter. If I were a poet, 
my song should be of June. A Tourist, 
Jiine should find me rambling among the 



49 



choicest vales and mou'.tains. Its airs 
are s;enial to me as to the roses iu the 
garden, and in its days and nights all the 
roses in my soul bloom freshly as in the 
gardens. Had I a lover who would come 
to woo, let him mingle his cadences with 
the voices of June. In Jime, may the 
white-winged angels come to bear away 
my soul to the long Juuc day of Heaven. 
Constance. August, with the sun at 
the zenith. Summer for me ! golden sum- 
mer I Warmth and light and beaut}', 
flowers and sunshine and birds I It is in 
harmony with my nature, warm, ardent, 
glowing. No compromise. The vertical 
beams of the life-giving sun falling direct 
on my " devoted head." I love the heat- 
lightnings from the August summer 
clouds, and the heat-Iii^htniags from 
fervid minds. We like things in which 
we see reflections of ourselves, and this 
season in which all the parched wayfarers 
of earth are dropping empty buckets into 
empty wells, reminds me ever of my mind, 
in which forever and forever I am drop- 
l)ing ''moss covered buckets" and drawing 
nothing up, except the conviction that 
'•ideas are not, vacuum is." The only 
beatitude I possess, or hope for is Sam- 
bo's, '' Blessed are they who don't expect 
nothinsf, for they aint gwine to be disap- 
pointed." I too, love it for the poetry of 
its associations. Remembrances crowd 
upon my suul of journeys, picnics and 
the like, in which I have enjoyed such 
melting, burning, capricornical pleasures, 



I could scarcely breathe from their in- 
teubiiy. Broiling sun, to which was 
added roasting, followed by the flaishing, 
culminating toasting, 'till I was ''done to 
a turn," in the languay:e of the high 
prie&tesses of the cuUine. Tropical 
weather suggests tropic il fervors to ray 
tropical nature. I have tasted their 
sweetness, and can testify thereof. My 
one hope matrimonial is, that some day a 
fit of very, midsummer madness will seize 
some overpowered swain, making him 
glad to accept the offer of my heart as an 
improved refrigerator. Sing, sunflower 
of August's torrid glories ! Sing, " true to 
thy kindred points of sun and^drought I" 
Rebecca. May, the month of Mary 
whom I would fain resemble. The spring- 
time of the year, and life and love, 
ushered in with gladness by May Queens, 
and May poles, and merry makings, 
while the "earth laughs out with sweet 
May-flowers, that flush for very happi- 
ness." Like Christabel I was born "in 
the perfect prime of that sweet time, 
when daisies whiten, woodbines climb," 
and have retained an atflnity for its 
kisses of love. My choicest joys have 
fallen from Mny boughs, when I have 
been Maying, in the merry, merry May. 
"Learning from the book of May," bath- 
ing my face in M ly dew, with the " May 
sensation everywhere." All through the 
month while ''Our Lady's Bells" are 
blooming, I feel "the little bells of 
heaven are ringing me away." It must 



50 



havs been under their influence, Bunyan 
wrote of ''the bells in heaven, ringing 
over the river. " A voice of promise, and 
song of hope, chimes out from every bud 
aud nest upon the trees, and a larger 
range of possibilities stretch out before 
me. On May-day I consult the Oracles 
presiding over my destiny, in the old time- 
honored way, by strewing the hearth with 
white embers, placing a snail apon them, 
and in the lines traced by its progress, 
reading the initials of my fate. I should 
love to follow the season from climate to 
climate, and have it always May, 

Mr. Montague. January. I like new 
beginnings. They have marvelous power. 
Contradictory as it seems, " new begin- 
nings are the life of perseverance." With 
each newly opened year, I feel new en- 
ergy and spirit and capacity. The heart- 
some greetings which usher in its birth, 
give a spring of joyousness and hopeful- 
ness, as if a good start were half the voy- 
age. As the "new year unfolds its 
portals" destiny stands between the glow- 
ing clouds of the rising sun, and the 
funeral pyre of the departed year," and 
like Janus for whom the month w^as 
named, we look into the past aud the 
future, I feel at tliis season, like an 
athlete entering a new arena, with bound- 
less hopes and possibilities. I love the 
long days by the hearth, with a bright 
fire thereon, and the longer evenings shine 
out like stars of hope, with hours in 
which uncounted treasures can be hoard- 



ed and richest wisdom stored. Never 
does comfort seem so individualized, im- 
personated, as when, with the wild storm 
roaring without, she sits within the sweet 
sheltering of the warmly curtained hoine, 
with fire beams, and love beams, and soul 
beams, scintilating and sparkling in the 
air. Then all the home fairies come creep- 
ing out, and the fairest soul-buds open, 
blossom and bear fruit. 

Mr. Graham. March. Like Bryant, 
perhaps I like the wild, stormy month, 
I because but " passing few are those who 
I speak in praise" of it. " Yet though its 
1 winds are loud and bleak, it is a pleasant 
I month to me. For in its sternest frown 
abides a look of kindly promise yet," 
Hope sits perched aloft on every naked, 
leafless branch, and sings of summer- 
days, and summer-lands, and summer- 
friends, and sun-flowers. Sometimes I try 
to imprison the airs upon the " frosty side 
of cool," to abate the capricornical heats 
of summer, whose waving wings I hear 
afar, I take walks requiring almost the 
traditional seven-leagued boots iu "Mud- 
field-cum-Slushmore," to watch the first 
furrow turned by the plowshare in March, 
and obtain the first smell of the mould. 
I could not have borne the transplanting 
here, had it not been in the early spring, 
when all the fibres of my nature reach out 
kindly shoots towards all kindly things. 
I love wall-flowers, and "last roses of 
summer," the last red leaf, and all things 
neglected and forlorn, and in this way 



51 



tbcro sprang up naturally, love for this 
uuloved, unlovely month. I would not 
have my love one whom all the world 
called liair. I would have her beauty 
hidden, unseen, unknown, that I might 
be the sun drawing out the sunflower. 
" What care I how fair she be, if she be 
not fair to me." I can imagine what a 
delicious secret it would be, if I alone 
knew, when bowing at the shrine of the 
goddess of summer, that the summer 
lightnings corruscating round her, never 
hurt the objects they illumed. At every 
step in March, one has a dim suggestion 
of its deliciousness, in noting that "what 
the frost conceals, the sun reveals." In 
March we find "each minute sweeter 
than the last," so would I find both ■ife 
and friends. 

Mr. Carlton. April. Sweet, change- 
ful month I All smiles and tears. I love 
not sameness. Give me change, variety ! 
I should stagnate, vegetate, were life but 
one long summer day. I need the alter- 
nate basking in the sun, and battling 
with the storm. Unvarying sweetness 
would cloy. I want the spice and acid 
mingled with the sweet. Like the stream, 
life needs motion to keep it sweet. Run- 
ning water is never turbid. One of child- 
hood's charms is their "keeping their 
tears and laughter in the same bag." The 
change from grave to gay, is pleasant to 
me, even to the sweet excess of April's 
changefulnes. I like music in alternate 
major and minor keys, now ar. adagio 



and now an allegro. I could never read 
the same book all day, but like to dip 
deep in dusty tomes, and then sip honeyed 
dews from sparkling fountains. And so 
the " phantom of delight" that sometimes 
gleams upon my sight, must be " a crea- 
ture not too fair and good, for human 
nature's daily food, praise, blame, love, 
kisses, tears, and smiles." 

Mr. Mortimer. October. Mellow Oc- 
tober ! It seems as if the universal voice 
must call it, the loveliest month of all the 
year. Oh ! the draughts of sparkling 
October. What airs so rare ? What 
fruitage so rich ? What skies so soft ? 
What colors so bright as hers ? It was 
in October I had my first peep into fairy 
land, whose geography has been my 
choicest study since. Beneath her skies, 
in the soft, haze of Indian Summer, with 
fruits like golden apples from the gardens 
of the Hesperides, and the atmosphere 
like rare wine, my whole frame vibr^ites, 
and dilates with inexpressible joy. — 
Dreams of Heaven, dreams of love, and 
home, and Eden, float on its every breath. 
No squirrel ever loved the sound of drop- 
ping nuts, more than I, or cracked their 
kernels with a better relish. Nothing 
imperfect at this season, — leaves, fruit, 
earth — ripe, finished, complete, mature. 

STARS. 

Theodora. Venus. Star of Love. Some- 
time star of the morning, and sometime 
star of the evening. As beautiful on the 



52 



brow of Aurora, as on the ebon winp;s of 
night. I love her soft spells, and have 
seen her so bright as to cast a shadow in 
my watches, and believe that beneath her 
beams, will be woven the embroidered 
girdle, that binds ray heart to another, or 
that Y/hich will make up for it fully, en- 
tirely. 

Alice. Jupiter. Brilliant, supreme ; he 
sways my soul and destiny, as the tides 
move obediently to the influence that 
causes their ebb and flow. I am con- 
vinced it was in the ascendant when I 
was born, and will set darkly or brightly 
upon the supreme moments of my life. 

Constance. Merope. The sorrowing 
Merope, the lost Pleiad. Lonely I roam, 
and though not like her, the wife of a 
Sisyphus, yet am I ever striving to roll 
— Sisyphus-like — a stone up hill, that is 
continually rolling back upon me. All 
my life have I been saying mystic spells 
over imaginary cauldrons, hoping to 
evoke strength to heave a stone with Ajax, 
Forever, like this lost Pleiad, flying 
through "realms of nothingness, "hoping 
for things that lack the symmetry of pos- 
sibility. Playing no part in the present, 
remembering the days that are past, and 
hoping in those to come. Haunted by 
ghosts of unfulfilled promises. A song 
unsung. Living on visions by day, and 
dreams by night, duly grateful for the 
sweets of forge tfuln ess. A phantom of 
delight, a lovely apparition, nothing more, 
catching not often a sunbeam, and not 



often a moonbeam, and not often a stray 
beam from planet or star. The light of 
my heart, like the light of the Pleiad gone 
out, extinguished, while the pieces go 
darkling around, vainly expecting a ce- 
menting power, from some Irresistible 
with magnificent optics. "Woe's me 1 

Kebecca. Arcturus. Foreteller of the 
weather. Sending forth portends of 
calm and of tempest. I imagine it to 
have been the star of my nativity, so mys- 
teriously linked have we ever been. Since 
a child, when the Great Bear and Bear 
Keeper were pointed out, and I saw this 
soft star shining silently from within its 
beamy constellation, and followed in child- 
ish delight the chase round the North 
Pole, I have looked upon it, as my star 
of destiny, and read in its beams auguries 
of good and ill, ofttimes repeating, as 
when a child, 

"■ I see the star, and the star sees me ; 
God bless the star, and God bless me." 

Mro Montague. Mars. Its red light at- 
tracted my boyish gaze, and became link- 
ed with knightly dreams of adventure, 
and knightly reverence for woman. I 
singled it out, as the Star of my Hope, 
and it has been singularly auspicious to 
me thus far on my pilgrimage. The first 
watch of life I have given "to the red 
planet Mars," and still, " The star of the 
unconquered will, he rises in my breast, 
serene, and resolute and still, and calm 
and self-possessed." 



53 



Mr. Graham. Mercury. The planet 
nearest to the Sun. Emblem of all things 
sprightly and winged. Not often seen by 
the naked eye, but always shining serene 
and fair, in its own fair orbit, and sun- 
lighted sphere. 

Mr. Carlton. Sirius. The brightest of 
the fixed stars. Its very name the syn- 
onym of "to shine," "to be bright." 
Sometimes it is called the Dog Star, and 
and said to "rage," but under its influ- 
ence do all ' ' the precious things brought 
forth by the earth, the precious things 



brought forth by the moon, the precious 
things brought forth by the sun, and the 
precious things brought forth by the 
stars," grow, and flourish, and ripen. 

Mr. Mortimer. The North Star. True, 
constant, changeless. Though mountains 
be removed and cast into the sea, that 
ray serene, burns steadily, calmly, purely, 
above the " wreck of matter and the crash 
of worlds." Emblem of the lofty soul of 
which I sing — "Thou, a steadfast sky; 
all others, transient clouds athwart it 
blown. 



54 



CHAPTER yi. 



NAMES. 



Theodora: "Paul. I like it because it 
falls pleasantly on the ear. Because it is 
short and easy of speech. Unhackneyed. 
Lifting you in thought above the com- 
monplace. I like it from association with 
'thoughts that breathe and words that 
burn.' I cannot imagine a Paul as living 
other than the ' beautiful life of holiness, ' 
' the excellency of heavenly wisdom, the 
excellenc}' of heavenly strength. ' I am 
a strong believer in the power of nomen- 
clature! When asked, ' What's in a 
name?' I point to living replies, and 
show how *some names stimulate and 
encourage the owner, while others deject 
and paralyze him. ' All honor to Bulwer 
for putting into the mouth of one of his 
heroes, 'On the altar of the name of 
Peter, I have been sacrificed. That name 
has been a dead weight on my intellec- 
tual energies. My son shall not be pet- 
rified into Peter.' He then quotes Mr. 
Shandy's pleasant words, of pleasant 
memory and pleasant savor, even at this 
far-off day : ' That among the responsi- 
bilities of a parent, the choice of a name 
which his child is to bear for life is one of 
the greatest. ' I wish I could claim some 
shining significance for the name of my 
choice, and am fain to believe some new 



derivation will be unearthed from the 
dust of ages now covering it, that ac- 
count, and give point to the change from 
Saul to Paul, which, with its present 
interpretation of 'Little,' is pointless, 
and a bootless bene. My favorite Bul- 
wer, to quote from him again, says : ' If 
you want the booby to turn the world 
topsy-turvy you had better call him Julius 
Cassar, or Hannibal, or Attila, or Charle- 
magne. The choice of a name lies be- 
tween the two extremes of ludicrous in- 
significance, and oppressive renown. A 
name should neither be too light nor too 
heavy. A baptismal that is cacophonous 
or provocative of ridicule is a heavy bur- 
den to carry inalienably from the cradle 
to the grave.'" 

Alice: "Guy. Like Theodora, I am fond 
of short names. Names that are easily 
called. Crisp, conveying its sound to the 
ear, without danger of being misunder- 
stood. I once heard a father say, he 
chose for his boys names that could be 
made to ring out long distances, that 
they might act as a sort of reveille, I sup- 
pose. I am fond of significant names and 
names of pleasant association. Guy comes 
invested with the knightly charms of the 
Round Table, linked with faerie scenes in 
Spenser's Faerie Queen, and with the ad- 



55 



ventures of the adventurous Earl of War- 
wick, and though it was sulUed by the 
leader of the gunpowder treason, our 
minds like sieves sift out the evil and re- 
tain the good. It hath a gallant, high-bred 
sound, and I like its cadence well. Un- 
less the wearer were the very 'mirror of 
knighthood,' it would be a misnomer. 
It meaneth 'sense.' The salt of the world 
that keeps it sweet. Good, sterling, com- 
mon sense, is a commodity not only in- 
dispensable but rarer than is acknowl- 
edged. I like its clear, true ring where- 
ever hea:d or however homely its accom- 
paniments. Uncommon sense is very 
like gun-cotton, apt to explode, and send 
comfort, repose and happiness, flying off 
in meteoric showers, lirilliant corrusca- 
tions and scintillations, without the calm, 
clear, shady rays, that make life sweet 
and restful, true and peaceful. " 

Constance: 'Mob. The cognomen of the 
patient, much enduring man. None of 
}'Our Eden-like beings, with Eden-like 
names for me, but a patient man, 'pious 
and a good provider.' Content to sit be- 
neath woe's drooping willow, and find 
consolatory companionship in merit, 
which exists more in the optics seeing, 
than object seen. A very paragon of 
animals who will never look aghast at 
my sayings, and doings, and thinkings. 
The name is an impersonation of my 
ideal, to whose loving criticality I im- 
agine my rotund visage and promontory 
cheeks will be dear as any fair Clemen- 



tina Angelina's. Who will never distort 
his symmetrical visage to see whether 
things are going diametrically, diagonally, 
askew or kitering, but will throw the beau- 
tifully becoming mantle of charity over 
all my shortcomings. Perhaps I enjoy 
my dreams of the perfections of my Job, 
all the more, because, as is usual with 
them, they la-ck the symmetry of possi- 
bility. Tnough my name stands wath my 
friends, for all that is dove-like in dispo- 
sition, there would be no doubt of the 
genuineness of my displeasure, did my 
mowcher-like volatility call from my ideal 
a heavy cloud of upbraidings. Therefore 
does Job represent to me the only man 
who could grow to be a hero in my eyes. 
' I wish heaven had made me such a man. ' 
One who would never haunt me with the 
ghosts of unfulfilled duties. Never ' droop 
like unto a bulrush,' when unseasoned 
viands should make me look about for 
some convenient, neighborly knot-hole to 
creep into. One who would admiringly 
allow me to turn the house over and stand 
it upon the chimney pots, and metamor- 
phize myself into any conceivable shape 
for entertainment. Hooraar I Hooraar ! 
Jflearts alight ! Hooraar ! for such a two 
bodies I would give a roasted goose (and 
the fatted gobbler) this moment, to see 
this blessed" Job, and hear him declare he 
loved me. Job 1 Job ! Nothing capri- 
cious, contradictory, or troublesome 
about it. The ear lingers upon the soft 
cadence, and repeats it, and sings its 



56 



praises o'er and o'er. If heaven should 
' grant me such a man,' I should enroll 
him at the next grand Exposition, as a 
proof to all, that ' good hearts can be 
shown by turning inside out his own.' 
Job ! Job ! Poor Job for me !" 

Rebecca: Ernest. "I like it for its 
suggestion of earnestness, though those 
skilled in stripping poetry from names, 
by laying bare their roots, and stems and 
branches, say it came from Arnst, an 
eagle-stone. I shut my eyes upon these 
Iconoclasts of Nomenclature, and cling 
to my love for Earnest Ernest. It is 
sufficiently short to prevent its being 
nicknamed, and yet there is enough of it 
to carry dignity, and give presence. I 
like fancy names, but like hereditary 
names as well. ' A good name is rather 
to be chosen than great riches. ' It was 
the art first practised, the "Lord GOD 
formed the beast of the field and every 
fowl of the air, and brought them to 
Adam, to see what he would call them, 
and whatsoever Adam called every living 
creature, that was the name thereof.' 
Life's primeval art ! Let us not despise 
it ! Plato put in the mouth of Socrates 
the words, 'the giving of names is no.i 
small matter, nor should it be left to 
chance, or to persons of mean abilities. ' 
Earnestness is one of the cardinal virtues 
with me. If a man or woman is but 
breaking stones upon the dusty highway, 
I like to see it done earnestly, with a will. 
I like to see children play earnestly, as if I 



their miniature ventures, plans and en- 
terprises, were a reality to them. I prog- 
nosticate greater things of a child of or- 
dinary parts, with earnest will-power, 
than from the rarest talents without. 
Earnest work by whomsoever done is an 
earnest of the service which shall be ren- 
dered when we 'go up higher," where 
we are told so expressively, ' His servants 
shall serve him !' " 

Mr. Montague: "Agnes, meaning sacred 
or pure I This name is associated with 
spiritual beauty and purity, 'without 
spot or blemish, or any such thing. ' The 
sweet legends of S. Agnes hover about it 
with undying echoes, and we see her as 
her parents saw her by her grave in the 
silent catacombs, radiant in glory, with a 
lamb of spotless whiteness by her side. 
All over England, maidens keep the vigil 
of S. Agnes, with watching and fasting to 
discover their fate in marriage, while 
others believe that by petitioning the 
moon nine times, and fasting on three 
S. Agnes' eves in succession, they can 
secure whom they will. So you see to 
what dangers we are exposed. On the 
eve of the 21st of January, we are liable 
to have our hearts forcibly taken from us, 
our aftections uprooted and twined round 
an unknown shrine. On that night it 
were good to be the possessor of the ring 
of Gyges, which renders the wearer invis- 
ible. Or would it be more chivalric to 
banish all thought of self, and only ' pray, 
pray for the wretches who weep, for they 



must be wretched, who cannot sleep, 
when GOD Himself draws the curtain.' 
In doinoj homage to t*be name of Agnes, 
I bow at the shrine of purity and inno- 
cence. Xame-givinir has been surrounded 
with dignity and ceremonials and impor- 
tance among all peoples. The various 
customs sacred to it, form a very curious 
study, and one into which it has often 
pleased me to dip. For it, I have often 
burned the 'Midnight Oil,' standing 
'up to the chin, in the Pierian flood.' 
The Jews used to change the name of a 
child in case of extreme illness. When 
all remedies failed, as a last expedient 
they resorted to this. In Livonia, it is a 
common thing to change an infant's name, 
if at six weeks, it does not seem to be 
doing well. Sacrifices are offered, and 
banquets given in honor of the ' name 
day, ' in almost all lands. A pretty custom 
among the Jews is the name-verse. A 
verse in the Psalms is selected, the first 
and last letter of which, correspond with 
the initial and final letter of the name. 
It is carefully written out, committed to 
memory, and repeated ever}^ night at the 
conclusion of pra^^er. After death a good 
augel is supposed to descend and inquire 
the name. A good Jew or Jewess remem- 
bers and repeats the sacred verse, and 
rests in peace, but if their life has been 
evil, the sacred words will all have passed 
out of their minds." 

Mr. Carlton : '' Margaret. With all its 
lovely train of diminutives and synonyms. 



It has given occasion for more pretty 
fancies, and dainty conceits than any 
other name. Derived from the Persian 
name for the pearl. Mervarid, (Child of 
Light) in accordance with the 'beauteous 
notion that the oysters rising to the surface 
of the water at night, and opening their 
shells in adoration, received into their 
mouths drops of dew, congealed by the 
moonbeams into the pure and exquisite 
pearl, resembling in its pure, pale lustre, 
nothing so much as the moon herself ' — 
' Legran Margharita, ' as Dante calls 
her. The Virgin Martyr's memory floats 
round the name as a pure fragrance, giv- 
ing it the ' odor of sanctity. ' I love the 
legend of her overcoming the dragon, 
embodying as it does so beautifully the 
power of feminine innocence and faith to 
overcome all things. It has made the 
name seem almost a title to the promise 
made 'to him that overcometh.' " 

" The flower of S. Margaret is the Poppy, 
in allusion to Dragon's blood, but the 
Daisy is the emblem of all other fair Mar- 
guei'ites. Its coming into bloom in Eng- 
land about the 22d of February, S. Mar- 
garet's Day, gave it its old name, ' Herb 
Margaret. ' In France it is always called 
'La^Marguerite.' Faust has thrown an 
added charm about the name, as did 
Marguerite de Yalois, who was called 
' La ]SIarguerite des Marguerites' and 
the daughter of Bruce, the proudMaisie 
of the ballad. Margaret of Austria's mis- 
fortunes were accounted for by a French 



58 



versifier by the circumstance of the ini- 
tial letter being that of the words Malheur, 
Misere, Mai, Martyr, Malediction, Mali- 
fice, and Mort, forgetting these omens 
were destroyed by translation. Goethe 
has made Gretchen classical, and Klop- 
stock, Meta, both diminutives of Marga- 
ret. It hab ever been a pretty fancy to 
me, when the chosen one is found, to be- 
stow a new name upon her, a name sacred 
to oneself, by which none other address 
her. ' A rose by any name would smell 
as sweet,' but I shall esteem it an. offer- 
ing of homage to call the queen of my 
soul Margaret, while to others she is 
known by her baptismal. Several times 
in the Bible, epochs in life are marked by 
the giving of a new name. I have always 
been struck with the appropriateness of 
Simon's faint-hearted name being changed 
to Peter, signifying 'a Rock,' so glori- 
ously in trials and death did he fulfill the 
divinely appointed name. The Japanese 
take new names at four different periods 
of life. Childhood, Youth, Manhood and 
Old Age. The Chinese receive a 'milk 
name,' and on entering school a 'book 
name. ' In marriage another, and another 
that he shall earn, which is called his ' lofty 
and great name.' The Romans also had 
four names. The jSTomen, the family name. 
The Praenoraen, or personal name. The 
Cognomen, surname. Agnomen, title of 
honor. Their names were engraven on 
their bucklers, and with their name going 
before them, they dared not be cowards. 



" Indian Braves purchased new names 
with their heart's blood. Like Xatty 
Bumpo, every man received according to 
his gifts. His names of ' Deerslayer,' 
'Straight Tongue,' ' Hawk Eye,' ' Lou- 
ga Carbine,' 'The Scout,' 'Path- 
finder,' 'Leather Stocking,' and 'Trap- 
per,' mark the different periods of his 
career. An epitome of his history. 
Among the Arabs they bestow names in 
ridicule, setting forth singularities and 
peculiarities, and among the witty Greeks 
such nicknames were common. The 
talent for remembering names is called 
a royal gift, and is possessed by some in 
a remarkable degree." 

Mr. Graham: "'Katharine, meaning 
spotless and pure. It falls on my ear 
like a soft cadence. A musical name, 
of pleasing signification, which sounds 
like a blessing. Its diminutives form a 
chaplet of sweet words. Kate, Kathleen, 
Katrine, from Cathlin, the beam of the 
wave. Karen, Katinka, &c. 

"S. Katharine of blessed memory has 
made it holy, ' like ointment poured 
forth,' and thoughts of her drop like 
sweet swelling myrrh from its syllables. 
Her heavenly espousals. Her rejection 
of the suit of Maximum . The destruc- 
tion of the wheels upon which she was to 
have been broken, and the translation of 
her body by angels to Mount Smai, Chris- 
tian art has ever loved to reverence and 
delineate. The picture of the angels bear- 
ing her on outstretched wings to Heaven, 



is familiar as household words ; an elo- 
quent, unwritten poem ; type of Intellect 
ual beauty, as Agnes was of Spiritual, and 
Margaret of Moral. Mrs. Stowe's poem 
upon ' S. Catherine borne by Angels, ' is 
beautiful exceedingly, and deserves to 
be ranked with Tennyson's 'S.Agnes.' 
The name Katharine has inalienably a bit 
regal sound, having been borne so loftily 
and nobly by queens and court ladies. It 
is beautiful to add lustre to an already 
lustrous name, as did Katharine of Arra- 
gon, and Katharine Douglas, brave and 
true. Sometimes golden deeds gleam like 
an aureole around a name, and live after 
all other personality is lost, as with King 
Arthur of the Round Table, whose person 
is lost in the brightness of his name. 
Some one says, ' Where Peter Schlemil 
lost his shadow, Arthur has lost his sub- 
stance. ' 

"■ There is a spring and spirit about the 
name of Katharine, which is inspiring. 
It would ill become a languishing, lacka- 
daisical sort of beauty. A bit of the hoy- 
den, with an overflow and effervescence 
c.f spirit, making 'Felicity absolutely 
foam at the ^j^es,' is more in keeping. 
Petruchio's Kate, ' renowned in Padua 
for her scolding tongue' — ' Katharine 
the curst' — were more in harmony, for 
she was tamed, and came to be 'Bonny 
Kate, the prettiest Kate id Christendom, 
Kate of Kate Hall, super dainty Kate — 
for dainties are all Cates — and therefore, 
Kate, take this of me : Kate of my Con- 



solation, Sweet Katharine.' The ring 
of the true metal is there, and waitetli 
but for the coming of the supreme hour 
and man, who shall say, ' For I am he 
that am born to tame you, Kate, and bring 
you from a wild cat to a Kate conforma- 
ble as other household Kates.' I must 
and will have a Katharine for my wife. 
Choosing it not for her baptismal, that I 
may confer it on her with the marriage 
ring, as the mark of my confession that 
' in mine eye she is the fairest maiden in 
the world,' and 'seal the title with a 
lovely kiss.' I long for nothing more 
than to be Kated. 

" Christian names are one of the marks 
of civilization, and are of much later in- 
vention than surnames, and arose first 
from some circumstance of birth, as Esau 
— Hair}^ Afterward Irom complexion, 
as, Edom — Red ; Fulviu.3 — Yellow ; Don 
— Brown ; Blanche — Fair, &c. Next 
from some quality desired for the child, 
_ as David — Beloved. I often discover a 
j' pre - established harmony between the 
I names and characters of my personal 
I friends, as well as of my historical favor- 
I ites. Christian Rosencrantz is one of the 
most striking ones. An embodiment of 
the genius of the man. As if the tiny 
acorn were seen in his brain, that should 
grow and expand into the mighty oak of 
the Rosicrucians — " The Rosy Cross.' In 
art, the names of the Archangels, Michael 
and Raphael — the Archangels of Art. 
In the early days of Rome, women had 



60 



no names- They afterwards received di- 
minutives, as TiiUiola of TuUus. If more 
than one daughter was born in a family, 
they were designated as Major and Minor. 
If more than two by numbers as Junia 
Major, Junia Minor, Junia Tertia. Now 
even dogs have names. Tiiink of the 
Chinese girls with their poor, tiny feet, 
called golden lilies, known in their fathers', 
houses' simply as 1, 2, 3, &c. The follow- 
ers of Mohammed were more loyal, and 
named women from gems, flowers, and 
Stars." 

Mr. Mortimer : " Barbara. Sweetest of 
sweet names to me I I have great faith 
and interest in Omantia, science of names, 
and would have them always given, re- 
ceived and borne as '■mots cle guerre.'' — 
Then might they ever be to us as words of 
warning, words of cheer, and help us on 
hke a banner with a brave device. Bar- 
bara, the type of Christian art and artistic 
devotion , is an impersonation of all dreams 
and hopes and realizations of beauty. 
The calling of a friend, Barbara, would 
be as if I should say, ' I behold in thee 
the Midas power, whose touch turns all to 
gold. The key-note that brings all sounds 
and strains into accord and harmony, be- 
fore which discord and dissonance melt 
into music. The Artist who arranges, 
combines and lays on the colors of life 
harmoniously, in flowing lines of loveli- 
ness.' 'Behold, my Barbara,' would 
embody, Beiiold my fair maker of fair 
pictures I My discourser of concords of 



sweet sounds. My Artist of the Art of 
life ! Architect of Home ! Singer of Home 
songs ! Weaver of Home stories I Keeper 
and adorner of Home shrines, and High 
Priestess at its Altar. S. Barbara ranks 
with the holiest saints of the Kalendar, 
and is the recognized protectress against 
thunder and lightning, and the Artill-ry 
of War. The Antidote of Discord and 
Unrest. I like the ancient Greek custom 
of making the act of naming children a 
Festival, and keeping the day as a high 
day. They selected the seventh day from 
birth for the occasion, from the mysteri- 
ous value attached to that number. One 
of the principal ceremonies was performed 
by the nurses and women running round 
the fire, one of them carrying the child in 
her arms. By this means the newly-born 
babe was supposed to be placed under the 
protection of the household g')ds, to whom 
the pagan hearth was always consecrated. 
An olive garland was hung at the door, if 
it was a boy, and a fleece of wool, if a girl. 
Sometimes they decided upon the name, 
by the Fates. Diilerent names were at- 
tached to a certain number of wax tapers, 
and the name was chosen from t]\e taper 
that burned the longest, supposing that it 
would insure the longest life. Chrysostom 
inveighed against it in vain. As late as 
the 13th century, the Emperor Androni- 
cus publicly employed' this method of de- 
termining the name of his daughter. The 
names of the Twelve Aoostles were select- 
ed on that occasion, and chance decided 



Gl 



for the name of Simonides, from Simon. 
The Mohammedans often place live names 
in the Koran, and draw at hazard. At 
one period of both Greece and liome, tlie 
custom prevailed of namini^ an infant at 
the moment of its birth. The child was 
laid at its father's feet, and the act of his 
lifting the babe from the ground and 
namins; it,was looked upon as an acknowl- 
edjzment of the child. The name Barbara 
is famous only in martyrology. Were I a 
poet, I would joy to sing its praise, and 
make it immortal, as Petrarch immortal- 
ized Laura with his songs. There is 
fashion even iu names. At one period of 
French Romance, every heroine was pro- 
vided "w^ith a name beginning with Z. 
Zulma, Zelia, Zaire, Zenaide, Zelidie. 
It was ridiculed out of fashion by the 
announcement of a History of Prince 
Zzzzzz. 

'• Pythagoras is said to have originated 
the belief that an uneven number of vow- 
els in a name was a sure presage of mis- 
f )rtune, loss of sight, broken limbs, or 
some mischance. Up to the present day, 
astrological c ilculations are made by the 
Arabs, founded on the numerical value of 
the letters which compose the names of 
individuals. But, without reference to 
cabalistic science, or anything outside 
the domain of personal taste, a Barbara 1 
a Barbara for me !" 

GEMS. 

Theodora: Pearls. "As the emblem of 



purity I love them. Yery little of the 
earth earthy hangs about their spotless 
beauty, and so fresh from angel hands 
do they appear, I am fain to believe they 
dropped them into their homes of shell as 
earnests and foreshadowings of the gems 
of purity we shall behold, if we are so 
happy as to obtain an entrance within the 
gates of Pearl. They are free from all as- 
sociations of worldliness, as they are from 
all flashiness and gaudiness that would 
commend them to the lovers of show and 
glitter. They would shrink instinctively 
from contact with the atmosphere of fash- 
ion, if their unpretentious loveliness did 
not shield them from such exposure. 
Their home is on the fair, young maiden, 
and the trusting Bride, in whose praise 
could be sung as of Araby's daughter, 
' No pearl ever lay under Omar's green 
waters more pure in its shell than thy 
spirit in thee !" Their independence of 
the skill of the lapidary is an added virtue 
in my eyes. Many gems owe much of 
their brilliancy to art, while these shine 
unaided, a gift of the gods, untouched by 
man. I should esteem it the highest com- 
pliment I could pay, or could be paid to 
me, to give or receive a gift of Pearls, re- 
garding the offering as a tribute to purity, 
without which there would be no congrui- 
ty, as who should say, I read in your face 
the Divine Beatitude, ' Blessed are the 
pure in heart. ' A Chaplet of Pearls ever 
mingles with my dreams of a possible 
wedding, though not so largely as in those 



62 



of Tuscan maidens who confess Pearl 
necklaces of several rows to be the object 
of their young ambitions, and often their 
only dowry. That no two pearls were 
ever found alike is a super-added charm, 
though it seemeth verily like 'painting 
the lily, and gilding the rose,' to seek for 
added graces. Some have believed them 
to be made from tears. Whether tears of 
mortals, gods or fairies, I know not, or 
' tears of the sky for the loss of the sun,' 
as the ' dews of the evening ' are called. 
I was glad to add to my pearly associa- 
tions, Alexandrine de la Ferronay's 
' Lines on selling her Pearl Necklace for 
the Poor.' 

Pearls by nature wrou2:ht to be, 

Symbols of the tears we shed. 
Tear-drops of the moanino; sea, 

Rain'd upon his rocky bed, 
Snatch'd with tears from ocean's treasures, 
Worn with tears 'mid worldly pleasures. 

Darkest depths of human woe, 
Clo e around my shattered heart, 
' Tears have flowed, and tears will fl,ow. 
So in tears I bid you part, 
That some fewer tears be shed. 
Go, and change yourselves to bread. 

"This is the only tearful suggestion I 
have with them however. They remind 
me of the old beneficent fairies who used 
to appear disguised as withered hags, and 
bestow diamonds and pearls on the dis- 
creet maidens, who accosted them with 
reverence. In those days gems were ac- 
counted precious, because they operated 



as thought-magnets, and attracted the 
spirit into rapport with certain localities. 
Thus pearls suggest to me thoughts of 
peace and purity, and inspire me with 
restful, tranquilizing longings for the 
" pearl without price.' " 

Alice: "Emerald. Beautiful, exceed- 
ingly, has this precious stone ever been 
to my thought. One of the most precious 
things brought forth by the earth. It is 
said the lapidary keeps one always near 
him, to rest his eyes upon, when fatigued 
with looking upon other gems. Indeed 
it has ever been believed to benefit the 
eyes, when wearied by exertion, to re- 
lieve them by looking upon an emerald. 
'Gem, green as a meadow in spring.' 
Philosophers draw evidences of the ten- 
der care of the Infinite Love for His chil- 
dren, from the selection of green as the 
preponderating color of nature. It be- 
gets cheerfulness. 'The rays that pro- 
duce in us the idea of green, fall upon the 
eye in such due proportion, that they 
give the animal spirits their proper play, 
and excite a very pleasing and agreeable 
sensation.' My philosophic spasms are 
short! I love it for itself, its own intrinsic 
worth and value. 'In mine eye,' it is a 
miracle of loveliness, ' a joy forever.' 
It is such a modest, chaste jewel — emblem- 
atic of all that is most to be desired in 
woman. One, whose cheerful temper 
will make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.' 
A iiem, suited to youth and age. Beau- 
tiful upon the fair hand of the maiden, 



63 



the clierislied wife, and the aged mother, 
ladicative always of lovely tastes and 
Avann, ^eQuine love for all lovely things. 
It was supposed to have great medicinal 
virtues, and to lose not only its color, but 
shiver into fragments,at a breath or touch 
of impurity. 1 have read of their being 
so brilliant as to serve as a mirror, to re- 
flect -what was being done in different 
parts of the room. The Persians pre- 
ferred them to all gems for ornamenting 
their jeweled goblets. 'We weave cups 
out of emerald,' says Pliny. 

Solomon's table was one solid piece of 
emerald, as was the chalice, traditionally 
believed to have been used by our Blessed 
Lord at 'the institution of the Holy 
Supper.' In the Cathedral of G-enoa, is 
still shown the Sacred Catino. It is be- 
lieved to be part of King Herod's ban- 
queting plate, forwarded to Jerusalem 
where it was his intention to ' keep the 
Feast,' and was borrowed for their Mas- 
ter's use by the Disciples. Truly is it a 
sweet, an emerald association. Nothing 
less sacred than the Holy Grail, and San- 
greal could have given birth to the order 
of chivalry, or been fitting tasks for its 
knights to search for, linked indissolubly 
with the belief that only to the perfectly 
pure and holy could they be revealed. If 
for no other reason, I should love it for 
the sweet suggestions and visions with 
which it teems, of the emerald rainbow 
spanning the throne of God." 

Constance: "Ruby. I like its color. 



ardent, glowing, intense. Had I a lover 
come to woo, he must woo me with 
rubies, saying, ' My heart, and my life arc 
of the same hue as these, and your ' i)rico 
is above rubies.' It harmonizes, ' binds 
up well,' with my other loves, AuiiU'^t. 
and Sunflowers. When rubbed or healed 
they attract bits of straw and thread, and 
so resemble me with ruddy, rubicund 
face, when the August sun is shining, 
sitting under my sunflowers, attracting 
the swains, and scattering the sparks. 
To carry the resemblance farther, the 
test of a perfect one is exact agreement 
with the fresh blood of a pigeon dropped 
upon the same sheet of paper on which it 
lies. Immediately the arrows from my 
garden of delights reach the heart of any 
jeweled knight, I shall, 'like a fish in my 
little dish ' catch his blood, and straight- 
way compare his rubies and his blood, 
and be sure both are the hue of true 
' pigeon's blood,' ere I enroll him among 
my ' army of martyrs. ' The stork weaves 
it in the fabric of her nest as an amulet 
against serpents. Straightway my ship 
comes in, I shall hang one to the most 
convenient sunflower at the ' foredoor ' of 
my bower, as a touchstone to try the 
spirits that come to woo. Heigho I for a 
lover, Heigho I Rememberest thou the 
story of the widow who tended a young 
stork, which fell out of the nest, before fully 
fledged, and broke its leg. The grateful 
bird on returning from the annual migra- 
tion of its kind, dropped into her lap, as 



64 



she sat at the door, a precious ruby, which 
OQ her awakeniuor at night, she iound to 
her astonishment had lighted up ber 
chamber, like a blazing torch. I shall 
unfalteringly gather up all the storks 
that fall in ray way with broken legs, 
'bind up their wounds,' and watch when 
the cry goes forth ' The Storks ! The 
Storks!' for them to bring me not only 
good luck, but rubies, rubies red, rubies 
rare, rubies for my ruby hair. They not 
only bestow the power of seeing in the 
dark, but give light by night, the only 
gem that does. Diamonds when heated 
or exposed to the sun, and immediately 
carried into a dark room, give otf some 
light for a little time, but my glorious 
ruby shines on and on. Lamp-stone is 
one of its names, and we read of temples 
lighted by one, as though by many lamps. 
If ever I do a deed so good as to induce 
some faithful heart to bring a votive 
offering to my shrine, may it be a ruby, 
that like Hildegarde's nuns I may read 
' The Hours,' by its light at night, and if 
ever it be stolen, may the purloiner be 
stricken with remorse as was the run- 
away Benedictine that purloined theirs 
and return it. It is antagonistic to 
fire, preserving the wearer in the midst 
of flames. My friends often amuse them- 
selves with warming their hands at my 
hair, and removing inflammable things 
from contact with it, inspiring the fear 
that sometime unwittingly I may ' set 
the Thames on fire.' And too, I have 



ever feared spontaneous combustion, so 
great is my ' gushing spontaneity.' What 
a relief to my burning soul would be a 
talisman that would protect me even 
from the 'burnt out volcano ' of my heart 
to say nothing of other flames. It fore- 
tells by the change, and darkening of its 
color impending woes, and could warn 
me when my ardent love, 'like tropic 
climes was hatching scorpions to sting 
me.' A ruby! a ruby! to prevent my 
finding my bean vines' disappointment, 
tomatoes' dreariness. cabbages' desolation. 
I have made you safety-valve for my stu- 
pidity long enough. I trust for pardon 
to my beauty." 

Kebecca : " Amethyst. Its violet hues 
are beautiful as the light of Heaven. A 
holy radiance seems to beam from it, as 
it '' shoots out rosy flames. ' Like some- 
thing of celestial birth, it uplifts you far 
above the transitory things of earth. I 
touch it as if it were a holy thing, and 
did I possess one would hang it on my 
breast, not only as an Amulet to shield 
from evil thoughts, but as an inspirer of 
holy ones. Its message is of amethystine, 
celestial glories, and its hue the same as 
the purple visions that visit me in dreams. 
It is said to be an antidote to wine, as its 
name wine-less indicates. Wine drank 
out of a cup of amethyst will not intoxi- 
cate, so do I think the talisman of Ame- 
thyst would whisper 'Peace, be still,' 
in all tempests of passion, and intoxica- 
tions of vanity, worldliness and pleasure, 



65 



till the soul was hushed to a great white 
calm. Eepose is beautiful to me. Re- 
pose in nature. Repose in manner, soul 
and face. An Amulet insuring it would 
be beyond price. In the amethystine 
depths of this clear gem, I seem to see 
the very genius of repose, and dream it 
could impart its secrets if it would. The 
violet hues of nature are her choicest 
hues. The purple haze of distance, the 
empurpled hill and mountain sides. It 
is the emblem of richness, fullness to my 
mind. A beautiful Stone for a Betrothal 
Ring, shadowing forth eloquently the 
gold and purple of the heart the troth- 
plight signilies. I know that one of its sig- 
ni"fications is suffering, and its hues are 
those of the purple robes of martyrdom, 
and I know too that some things we all 
must bear and suffer. I would not shrink 
from beholding the sorrow in reserve, re- 
membering that in the crucible we are 
purified, refined, and made to bear the 
Image of the Crucified, in whose Bitter 
Passion and Purple Wounds our Hopes 
do live. I love it best for this, ' its 
throbbing, purple ray. ' 

' This vision bows ray soul, 

As tho' my dear Lord's side, 
Once more, on Calvary's Cross poured forth. 

The purple, living tide.' " 

Mr. Montague : " Diamond. The King 
of Gems. Type of light and lustre. Its 
brilliancy is exhilarating as champagne, 
lifting us above the commonplace, into a 



realm of light and loveliness. The beauty 
of all other gems is concentrated, crys- 
tallized into one perfect chrysolite. 
Should I bestow one, it would be an ac- 
knowledgment of my conviction that the 
Recipient was the Diamond of the World, 
peerless I supreme I perfect ! It has talis- 
manic power to ward off vain fears, 
prevent insanity and disordered mind. 
Highly electric, 'touching the chain 
wherewith we are darkly bound,' this 
sweet attraction is one of the indications 
distinguishing the real gem from the 
false. The true retaining their electri- 
city after being rubbed from six to thirty 
hours, whereas the artificial only retain 
it from forty to sixty minutes. The an- 
cients attributed most wonderful powers 
to Gems. It was said that they had great 
influence upon health, beauty, riches, 
honor, and good fortune, when worn as 
Amulets. They were brought into con- 
nection with the Planets, the twelve con- 
stellations and the seasons of the year, 
and a certain gem was worn each month, 
which was said to have during the term, 
its peculiar influence, and healing vir- 
tues. 

" January. Garnet. Denoting constan- 
cy and fidelity in every engagement. 

" February. Amethyst. Preserving 
mortals from strong passions, and insur- 
ing peace of mind. 

" March. Bloodstone, with its old legend 
that the red spots were Christ's blood 
diffused through the stone denoting cour- 



66 



age, and secresy in dangerous enterprises. 

"April. Sapphire, or Diamond. Ke- 
pentance and Innocence. 

" May. Emerald. Successful love. 

"June. Agate. Long life and health. 

" July. Ruby, or Cornelian. Insuring 
the cure of evils springing from Friend- 
ship and Love. 

"August. Sardonyx. Insuring conjugal 
felicity. 

"September. Chrysolyte. Preserving 
from or curing folly. 

"October. Opal. Misfortune and Hope. 

"November. Topaz. Fidelity in friend- 
ship. 

"December. Turquoise, or Malachite. 
The most brilliant success in every enter- 
prise of life. 

" The twelve foundation stones were 
mystically interpreted, and gave rise to 
many beautiful Mediaeval illustrations and 
allusions. Marbodus, in especial, wrote a 
beautiful sequence upon them, entitled 
'Gibes Cselestis Patriae,' beautifully trans- 
lated by Dr. Keale in one of his vol- 
umes of Mediaeval Hymns. The Twelve 
Tribes and the Twelve Apostles were 
represented symbolically by gems. These 
last were called Apostle Gems. The Ar- 
ticles of the Creed were also thus symbol- 
ized. Indeed the first notice of gems is 
in the Bible, where the High Priest wore 
one stone on his gold scarf, and twelve 
gems set in gold plate. The word Dia- 
mond comes from Adamant, from the 
Greek Adamas, and means invincible. 



With the Diamond of my dreams, I believe 
I should be invincible ; in faith I do. The 
Indians believe in the efficacy of large 
Diamonds to bring them back to their 
families. If I had but Diamonds rich 
and rare, perhaps my wandering destiny 
would be seized with longing, and come 
at my expectant call — a gem of the ' first 
water,' not the least ' ofi" color.' " 

Mr. Graham : " Topaz. In its exquisite 
transparency lies the chiefest of its 
charms. Like honey shining through 
pure gold. Its beautiful amber color 
is heavenly, like the glimmer of the 
golden streets of the Golden City. Like 
the hair of mermaids floating on the 
green sea waves. As I have seen tresses 
of maidens fair ripple and curl adown fair 
shoulders like dreams of angels, ' catch- 
ing the sunbeams like satin,' emblem of 
clear, transparent natures, from whom 
flow sweetnesses and kindlinesses in ever 
increasing, ever widening beams. It has 
been thought to drive away dreams, and 
dispel the terrors of the night, as these 
same sweet natures difi'use their infectious 
peacefulness around, and drive away un- 
rest and fear. There is something in- 
spiring in its clear, constant, cheerful 
rays. I should not have wondered if the 
ancients had attributed to it a soul, as 
they did to Amber, so bright and chang- 
ing and scintillating are its beams. The 
golden gleam of the Topaz for me !" 

Mr. Carlton: "Sapphire. Sky-colored 
gem I Stone of price I Sensitive as the 



67 



shade-seeking Mimosa. It feels tlie in- 
fluences of the sun and air. Sympatizes 
with the heavens, and does not shine 
equally whether the days be cloudy or 
bright, seeming to possess the soul of a 
friend Such a friend do I covet, who will 
joy in my joy, and sorrow in my sorrow. 
Emblem of a delicately sensitive nature, 
whose sympathies awaken, and tremble, 
and gush forth in response to every ripple 
of feeling, every vibration of emotion. 
My dreams of Love (this stone is of the 
very hue of dreams, and always calls up 
their blue haze) are ever of a soul that 
thus should reflect, and accord with every 
varying key of life. A human Eolian 
Harp, vibrating to every breath, between 
whose soul and mine there could be no 
spiritual separation, whose touch should 
thrill the most secret cords of my being, 
and play upon them as a master-hand 
upon a cunning instrument, drawing forth 
melody and sweetness from hitherto jan- 
gled and discordant keys, transmitting 
with the power of the alchemist, dross 
into pure gold. I look into the depths of 
this 'sky-colored gem,' as into the heaven 
of my love, and dream sweet dreams of 
sympathy, pure, perfect, changeless, true 
as the sky above me. It is sacred from 
association with the vows of the Yestal 
Virgins and priestly gifts. It speaks in 
tones of music to my yearning soul, of the 
maiden heart somewhere beating and 
praying, and keeping the Vestal "Lamp 
alight for me. For whom ' I, who need 



prayer so much, ' still pray first, and to 
whom alone I could offer a Sapphire 1 

Mr. Mortimer : '' Opal. Stone of Love. 
Cupd's own. Ofctimes bearing the name 
of ih3 lovely boy with the quiver, from its 
pre-eminent loveliness. Instinct with 
life it seems, with its perpetually chang- 
ing color. Shooting forth now beams of 
one, and now of another hue, diffusing 
their lustre over the fingers supporting it. 
Like the beautiful play of fancy — the 
sparkling effervescence of joy — the rich 
waves of feeling — the ever-changing, soul- 
stirring motions of thought— the varying 
moods and tempers of the soul. Things 
dearest to me, and which I could ever 
feast and feed, and live upon. I have had 
a treasured Opal for many years, and in 
its depths I see reflected the soul of my 
soul's sister, who shall give to me of the 
good treasures of her heart, and soul and 
mind, full and overflowing measure, till 
my cup, and heart and life run over 
with their fullness of content. The 
Opal is to me a living, palpitating 
heart, in which all things fair, and bright, 
and beautiful, find a resting place, with 
room to grow, and send out beams to 
make glad not only my poor heart, but all 
beneath its influence. A mirror of the 
Being who shall be more dear to me than 
much fine gold and precious stones, with 
whom all beautiful, and bright, and love- 
ly things to which I compare her, but 
half express her loveliness. It is said the 
Opal drinks in the sunlight, when exposed 



to it, and then gives back that light in the 
darkness of the night. So dream I of the 
Opal of my Life, as drinking in, not only 
the sunshine of human love, but also the In- 
finite, and giving ofi'to me, in my darkness, 
the hght, and warmth, and joy, and bless- 
ing slie has received. Opals are thought 
to have great power in cheering the heart, 
and inward parts, and specially rejoice 
the beholder's eyes. Orpheus was fain to 
sing, ' The Opal fills the hearts of gods 
with joy.' It is said to confer the gift of 
invisibility upon the wearer, and thus 
seems typical of 'My Love,' from whom 
' Self has passed in music out of sight.' 
Invisible to herself, she would fain have 
all her sweet agencies, and daily deeds 
of blessing hidden from sight. Malignant 
influences have been attributed to the 
Opal, but the unfounded notion finds no 



sympathy with me, and I cannot conceive 
in what damp and noxious vapor it had 
its birth. The finest Opal of modern 
times was worn by the Empress Jose- 
phine, called ' The Burning of Troy,' 
and she was ' ivorthy. ' 

" Gems, in the proper sense of the words, 
were stones which had figures or letters 
carved on them; so that without gem 
sculpture, or the glyptic art, our stones 
would not be true talismans, or amulets. 
We have, however, given the rein so fully 
to our admirations, that the evening is 
' far spent. ' It is time we were on our 
'winding way,' 'an hour and a half 
ago.' We cannot linger to define our 
favorite Cyphers, but must console our- 
selves with Yoltaire's famous, ' AVoe to 
him who says all he could say on any sub- 
ject.' " 



CHAPTER YII. 



January 5th. How shall I bridoje the 
long silence, dear Familiar, that stretches 
unbrokenly over the entire Advent and 
Christmas seasons. So much has been 
compressed into the five, beautiful weeks, 
I am puzzled and overwhelmed with 
"thick cominoj fancies " crowding to the 
pen-point. However, for a diary, " slight 
arches will suffice to convey the day's | 
freight across," but thefragranceof many I 
hours will have been exhaled that would j 
have been preserved had they been em- j 
balmed at once. Journalizing is an ever 
new pleasure, when pursued day by day, 
but dull, and unsatisfying when as now, 
attempting to make fitting record of half] 
forgotten davs, vanishing in the " dim | 
distance." Even if there is not much to 
say, it is better to "jog on, with faithful j 
stupidity, journalizing the events or 1 
rather non-events that compose our life." j 
Then would the occasion never come, 
obliging one to "hunt half-a-day for a 
forgotten dream." I was impressed to- 1 
day, and spurred until I felt the " spur of 
the occasion," by a passage upon faithful 
chronicling of ''the story of our lives 
from 3'ear to year," recognizing it as a 
special message for me. Every j'^ear I 
grow more disposed to feel each book I 



read has something personal to say to me, 
and my interest increases as I find they 
bear the test. I will repeat what I re- 
ceived in this sortis bihlocae sort of way 
to-day, that you may play gentle reminder, 
if in the newly opened year, I am inclined 
to allow the day's work and serving to 
crowd out the daily record. " There is a 
richness about the life of one who keeps 
a Diary, unknown to others. Time, thus 
looking back, is not a bare line, just 
stringing together personal idenity, but 
intermingled and intertwined with thou- 
sands of slight incidents that give it 
beauty, kindliness and reality. It is not 
merely a collection, an aggregate of facts, 
that comes back to you, it is something far 
more excellent than that, it is the soul of 
days gone by, the dear auld lang syne it- 
self, quickened, and in new robes. The per- 
fume of the faded hawthorn hedge is 
there, the sweet breath of breezes that 
fanned our gray hair when it made sunny 
curls, smoothed down by hands that are 
in the grave." The impression made by 
these ''words of truth and soberness," 
was deepened by dear Auntie's telling me 
as I closed the book, of a remarkable in- 
stance, she had known of an old lady of 
ninety years who had kept faithful record 



70 



of her daily life from childhood, amid the 
cares and labors of a mother's life, in the 
walk, iu which "much serving" falleth ' 
to the lot. She told me also of another, 
who kept her journal uninterruptedly from 
ten years of age. They never had to go 
feeling blindly back into the past to gather 
up the broken threads, and scattered 
links of their story, knocking their heads 
against all sorts of barriers, and losing 
their way. What a nice, comfortable 
time punctual people must have I I have 
heard of persons wandering through dark 
caves, with a cord fastened to the entering 
portal, in their hand, by means of which 
they could retrace their steps. By the 
silken cord of memory, I wander back 
through the labyrinth^ and find myself 
again listening to the blowing of the 
"Gospel Trump," for the opening of 
another "Christian Year," striving to 
open wide the portals of my heart, to re- 
ceive the Saviour it ushers in, praying its 
every hour might fiud me advancing in 
holiness, purity and grace, and I can 
truly say, very blessed has been the time. 
Our reading trysts were uninterruptedly 
kept, and each Christmas story of Dickens 
seemed more beautiful than the last, and 
we turned the last page regretfully, re- j 
peating with lingering tenderness the J 
closing prayer of the "Haunted Man." 
"LORD keep my memory green!" con- 
fessing ourselves unable to choose be- 
tween "the Carol," " the Cricket," "the 
Chimes," and "the Haunted Man" 



(which was the order in which we read 
them). All beautiful in their time and 
spirit. "We mourned there were no more 
to come, and were fain to say murrauring- 
ly, "Christmas without a fresh good 
word from Dickens is Christmas without 
the Holly Branch ; no Dickens, no Christ- 
mas." Then realizing these had the 
properties of old wine, and old cheese, 
and grew richer and sweeter by age, we 
drowned the Oliver cry of •"■ More, more," 
in thanksgiving for that we had received. 
The genius of Christmas waved his torch 
over us, and gave his own flavor and 
redolence to everything. "The cradle- 
song of Christ was never sung in vain." 
" Our hearts kept tune, and our fingers 
kept time," to the Angelas, and merrily 
the Christmas threads were woven in and 
out. Loving thoughts like gleaming lines 
of gold visible through all. Accomplish- 
ing magical results in magical time, be- 
cause our hearts were swayed by the in- 
spiration of Christmas. Time would fail 
to describe the souvenirs and offerings, 
which tasteful fingers contrived to weave 
under this influence, until the love-laden 
branches of our Christmas tree bent be- 
neath its weight of fruit. Surely all the 
year, our hearts will reflect more of the 
spirit of the "Holy Child," from our 
sweet festival about His cradle. I would 
you could have seen the tree, dear Fa- 
miliar. A perfect cone, symmetrical and 
large, surmounted by an image of ''The 
Holy Child." A beautiful white dove 



71 



perched aloft. Coronas of white and 
red tapers. .Chains of white bugles and 
chains of pop corn, gleaming out in grace- 
ful festoons r.nd windings, contrasting 
with long sprays of bitter-sweet, and 
wreaths of Autumn leaves. Multitudes 
of tapers everywhere. Gay baskets filled 
with bon-bons, and cornucopias of myriad 
forms and fashions. Fairies on tip-toe 
on the branches. Crystallized fruits, 
grasses and ferns. Gold and silver nuts, 
oranges and rosy apples impaled upon 
wires. Butterflies with brilliant gauzy 
wings, and rainbow hues fastened on with 
invisible horse-hairs, nests full of sugar- 
eggs, with birds perched on the dancing 
twigs above them. Flowers blooming on 
every bough. The base a great mound of 
moss, with glow-worms shining out, and 
all manner of gifts interspersed, and 
crowding each other. 

We wreathed the Church, going bravely 
into the forest with our good Knights, 
where ''the pine and laurel bent beneath 
the snow," that we might ''•gather them 
f'tr Jesus, wreath them for Ills Shrine, 
make His Temple glorious with the box 
and pine." We kept both heart and 
hands warm with Christmas Carols, mak- 
ing the snow-laden evergreen woods ring 
with the " glad tidings." Returning, in 
the plenitude of our joy, we left trees and 
branches along the wayside, at many of 
the humble doors of the tenantry, that 
the angels might not miss the mark upon 
the door-post and lintel, and pass them by. 



with " no Christmas here, I see !" Those 
December excursions bring no cold sug- 
gestions with them, but warm, rosy, 
kindling ones, making heart and cheek and 
forehead glow with their remembrance. 
So many pleasant words were dropped 
in the heart's deep well, so many good 
thoughts sown, so many key-notes struck 
whose tones will vibrate through the 
whole of life. Oh ! I bless the days, when 
" I heard the gales, through the wildwood 
aisles, like the Lord's own organ blow." 

" And the bush I had loved in my greenwood 
walk, 

I saw it afar away, 
Surpliced with snows, like the bendins;' priest, 

That kneels in the Church to pray." 

The Christmas services, the Christmas 
gifts and greetings, were each perfect in 
their kind, and are "writ where every 
day I turn the page to read. " "Would 
their reflection might extend to my paper 
and there still be visible." 

I must not, whatever I do, neglect to 
copy for you the "Song of Christmas," 
the Black Knight gave me on St. Nicholas' 
Eve — the 6th of December. Written out 
and illumined with his own good hand, 
in the daintiest little book. I would you 
could turn it over, "and see what lies 
between cover and cover. What treas- 
ures of art these pages hold, all ablaze 
with crimson and gold," almost remind- 
ing one of Theodosius who, "wrote the 
Gospels in letters of gold." 



72 



' ' Children of the Earth, young and old, 
listen to the song of Christmas. 

" I am come among you again with my 
fresh, keen blast, and my holly bough, 
and the snow crackling beneath my feet, 
and the hoar-frost dripping from my hair, 
and I see around me again the sight I 
love to see. The bounding step and the 
merry laugh, and the warm, pressing 
hand, and the lip that quivers with re- 
membered blessing, and the heart that 
glows with good deeds done, kept there 
tor God alone. I see the blazing log, and 
the plentiful board, and the throng of 
friendly faces. I hear my name echoed 
as a watchword of rejoicing, and I feel 
that I am loved as ever. And is this all V 

" Children of the Earth, revelers at the 
Feast, listen to the song of Christmas. 

'' Was it only for i/m, that I came among 
you first V Only to crown your banquets 
with jubilee V Was it that the yule-log 
might burn, and the wassail-bowl might 
loam, the table be crowned with plentv, 
that they who feasted all the year round, 
should feast still higher to-day ? Is there 
nothing nobler in my cheering voice, 
nothing holier in my song of joj^, than the 
mirth that blazes for an hour, or the dis- 
sipation that will weary you to-morrow ? 
Children of the Earth, triflers with re- 
ality, listen to the song of Christmas. 

" When I came among you first, ye were 
a sorrowing race. The winter came and 
went again, but brought no blessing with 
it. The sun looked down upon you with 



pity, but kindled you not to praise. Ye had 
no Saviour. Ye knew no God. I broke 
this chain of darkness. I let in the glori- 
ous light. I said to the Eastern Shep- 
herds, Rejoice ! To the wise men, your 
King is waiting. I brought on the wings 
of my glorious message, the blessings of 
the Eather of Spirits, and shed them 
down like dew upon your paths, that ye 
might be glad in the joy of your salvation. 
I shed peace on your consciences, com- 
fort in your tribulations. Light on the 
way wherein ye should walk, hope on the 
bed whereon ye must die. All this I did, 
yea, greater than this, when I told you, 
your Saviour was born ! Children of the 
Earth, ransomed of the Cross, listen to the 
song of Christmas I 

" The wilderness and the solitary places 
are glad because of me I The desert has 
rejoiced and blossomed as the rose ! 
Fruit has sprung up in the waste places 
of the earth, and well-springs from the 
rock and stone I There has gone forth a 
voice like an angel's trump, from which 
sorrow and mourning fiee away, and 
every note of its thrilling melody repeats 
the Redeemer's name I Weil then may 
ye rejoice, for whom that name was 
given. Fill up your cup with gladness, 
pour forth your voices in song. The 
utmost you can give will fall short of the 
due amount of gratitude and praise He 
has required at your hands. Be glad, ye 
children of Zion, and rejoice in the Lord 
your God, He has crowned the year with 



goodness, He has glorified the earth with 
deliverance. If ye should rejoice in the 
Lord alway, above all should ye do so 
now. Only take heed that ye rejoice 
aright, that Christmas drown not the 
name of Christ. That in the joy of the 
Saviour's birth, ye neglect not His great 
salvation. Children of the earth, proba- 
tioners for eternity, listen to the song of 
Christmas. Shall the children of the 
bride-chamber feast only when the bride- 
groom is not with them ? Shall the sons 
of the heavenly inheritance shrink from 
their native air ? Shall the Prince's 
birthday be kept as an universal jubilee, 
and the Prince Himself be banished from 
the gladness His birth has given ? Will 
ye fill the bowl with merriment, and 
heap the board with hospitality, and in 
your eager gathering of the earthly 
blessings, the fallen leaves of the tree of 
life, given indeed for the healing of 
the nations, but not sufficient for their 
immortal sustenance, pass over the fruit 
of holiness and grace, as though no tears 
had been shed, no blood had been poured 
to quench the flaming sword of the cheru- 
bim ? 

""Children of the earth, exiles from 
Eden's bowers, listen to the song of 
Christmas 1 Is it such a feast that I have 
chosen ! A day for a man to forget his 
soul I Is it to choke up his gratitude 
with self-indulgence, and to shackle his 
religion with worldly bonds ? Wilt thou 
call this a feast, and an acceptable day 



unto the Lord ? Is not this the feast I 
have chosen, to break off the yoke of sin, 
to crush the head of evil habits, to lay up 
comfort against the evil hour, and gather 
blessing and gladness that fade not away? 
To give with both hands liberally. To 
love with the whole heart fervently. To 
press onward, onward still, in the path of 
joyful obedience, bringing heart, and soul, 
and strength, and intellect as offerings to 
the Bridegroom's table, and drinking 
here on earth the cup of felicity that 
shall crown the marriage supper of the 
Lamb. 

''O star of the glorious East I Bright 
harbinger of salvation. First missionary 
of Gospel truth to the dark Gentile world. 
Thou, before whose meteor radiance the 
Persian's deity paled its ineftectual fire. 
Shine forth among us again, but for one 
passing hour, to teach us by what mys- 
terious eloquence thou didst reach the 
heart of man I Did the spheres lend their 
music ? All new-born as thou wast, and 
unknown to the chaldean records ? Did 
heaven gift thee with a preacher's voice, 
to call the heathen to their God ? So that 
when ni^ht unto night showeth knowl- 
edge, it might show it with an angel's 
tongue? How did'st thou pierce those 
triple folds of pride, superstition, and 
ignorance, that girt each learned magi- 
cian's breast as with an adamantine 
shield, bidding them cease their sidereal 
visions, and quench their devotional and 
perverted fire, and gather up their gold, 



74 



and frankincense, and myrrh, to bear 
over the hills and plains to the homeless 
cradle of a new-born child ? Speak but 
thus once more ! not to heathens but to 
Christians, not to those who never heard 
the Saviour's name, but to those who in 
that name are sealed, for hard are their 
hearts, and dull are their ears, as thouo:h 
that name had never sounded at all. 
Children of the earth I Wild olives of the 
Gentiles -listen to the sonoj of Christmas! 
"Yes, there are hearts that love Him, 
and find their joy in His favor ; a joy 
wherewith no stranger intermeddleth, and 
which no stranger can understand. Who 
are they that wake the nativity morning 
with the loudest and sweetest carols ? 
That fill the Lord's courts with beaming 
faces, and bring the brightest smile and 
happiest laugh for the meeting of affec- 
tion at home ? Who, but they, to whom 
my annual return is a pledge of their pur- 
chased security, and who feel as each year 
glides away beneath my wing, that they 
are only so much nearer Heaven ? Who 
but they, who go from house to house, 
where the poor man is too desolate to 
smile, lighting up the empty hearth, and 
covering the starving board, and giving 
the naked clothing, and finding the desti- 
tute a home, that every suffering member 
of the great redeemed family may be 
glad on the birth-day of their brother r 
Yes, to you I turn, ye sowers and reapers 
of mercy. Your mirth shall not turn to 
heaviness, nor your sacrifice be counted 



as a mockery, for the joy of your Lord is 
your shield and strength, and the God of 
the poor man is a guest at your feast of 
love. 

' ' Children of the earth, heirs of immor- 
tality, listen to the song of Christmas !" 

I would dearly love, dear Familiar, to 
describe the multifarious gifts and cadeaux 
that were the storied ornaments of our 
Feast, but time which cuts short so many 
of our pleasures forbids. Suffice it, that the 
little maiden was remembered and remem- 
bered others. The offering exceeding prec- 
ious to her, intrinsically exquisite in itself, 
but whose excelling charm she cannot de- 
fine or explain, is a manuscript book, with- 
in whose gilded covers the sable knight has 
transcribed with a fair hand, "I know the 
hand ; in faith, 'tis a fair baud, and whiter 
than the paper writ on, is the fair hand 
that writ," "The Culprit Fay." Every 
page is illustrated with charming vig- 
nettes, illustrations and illuminations. 
Some of the initial letters, excel any I have 
ever seen, and page after page glows with 
a luxuriance of flowers and trailing vines, 
grouped with such rare grace, as to al- 
most bewilder you with their richness, all 
bearing hidden meaning, and stories, and 
whispers beneath their leaves, reminding 
me of the ancient custom among the 
Germans, of placing in the centre of their 
ceiling, a rose, as the emblem of domestic 
confidence, from which we derive the 
phrase, ^'- suh-rosa,''^ "under the rose." 
Many hours has the little maiden spent 



since that " night to be remembered," in 
lifting the leaves, and reading the secrets 
hidden beneath them, and in the rosy 
hearts of the roses. Are they too bewild- 
eriugly sweet, think you, dear Familiar V 
Have a care, have a care, Rebecca, I say 
again and again, and on bended knee, 
ask, "From all blindness of heart, de- 
liver us, O Lord," and feel I have my 
heart still in my own keeping. 

To return to ''this chase of myself," 
Christmas week, holiday week was crowd- 
ed with holiday pleasures, and steadily 
we danced to the tune of "Blessed be 
Holidays !" which was caught up as a re- 
frain, ever and anon, from all parts of the 
house, often and again waking the echoes 
of rocks, and hills, and river-banks. 

We chaunted "midnight masses" over 
"the departing year," pouring a libation 
to the parting and the coming guest. It 
was a wild birthnight. The storm king 
rushing by on the wings of the midnight 
wind, enveloped in clouds and sleet. No 
sleep, after laying " jiie down to sleep," 
w^ondering what the New Year would 
bring to me and what take from me, con- 
secrating myself anew to the Lord of the 
year. Toward morning crooning myself 
to sleep with, 

** O come with blessings, new-born year, 

To all ray soul holds dear, 

Or bring the grace that crowns them all 

To die without a fear." 

Occasionally adding, "Say Old Year 
unto the New, kindly, carefully carry 



us through, for much, I ween, we 
have yet to do." 

New Year's morning gloomed dismally 
upon the initial letter of our new idyl, but 
blithe greetings within made "sunshine 
in a shady place," for the Knights of the 
Glen were "storm-stayed" and "snow- 
bound," and not unwillingly remained to 
keep the New Year Day with us. It is 
good when our vivat to the New Year 
can be heartsome and joyous. It is hard 
when days set apart for festivity pass dully 
and drearily. We read Longfellow's 
beautiful New Year poems, Tennyson's 
"Ring out, wild bells," and Jean Paul's 
New Year Night Thoughts, a translation 
of which the Black Knight handed me 
after reading, so much finer than any I 
have seen before I will transcribe it here, 
in memoriam. 

" The New Year unfolds its portals. 
Destiny stands between the glowing clouds 
of the rising sun and the funeral pyre of 
the departed year. 

"For what wishest thou, Natalie ? 

" Not for joy ! Alas 1 nothing but its 
black thorns have ever remained within 
my heart, for the rose leaves soon fell, 
and their odor was exhaled. The bright- 
est sun but heralded the wildest tempest, 
and the light which seemed to glitter on 
my path was but the reflection of the 
sword which the coming day was to plunge 
into my bosom. No ; I ask not for joy, 
it makes the desiring heart so empty. 
Sorrow alone can fill it. 



76 



"Destiny is portioning out Futurity. 
"What dost thou demand, Katalic ? 

' ' Not love. Oh 1 we press to our heart 
the thorny white rose of love till it bleeds, 
and the warm joy-tears which fall from 
its cup first become cold, then dry up for- 
ever. Is not love, in the morning of our 
life, bright and glowinsr as the aurora of 
Heaven ? But approach not that radiant 
atmosphere ; it is formed out of clouds 
and tears. No ! no ! I wish not for love. 
Let me die of a nobler agony, let mo fall 
beneath a loftier prison tree than the 
myrtle. 

"Thou art kneeling before Destiny, 
Katalie. For what prayest thou V 

''Not for friendship. No. We all stand 
side by side upon hollow, but unseen 
graves, and though our hands be twined 
together ever so firmly, though our hearts 
be knit together with the sufferings of 
many years, yet the slight vaulted roof 
will fall in. The pale one sinks down and 
I stand alone in a cold, solitary life be- 
side a filled-up grave. 

" No ! no ! but if indeed the heart be 
immortal, when friend meets friend in the 
eternal world, then may the pulse throb 
with an undying love. Immortal eyes 
become dimmed with tears of joy, and the 
lips that can never more grow pale mur- 
mur. Now I am thine, beloved one I 
Now let us love, for we can never more 
be parted. 

"Oh I thou forsaken Natalie, for what 
prayest thou, then, upon the earth. 



' ' For patience and the grave. Nothing 
more. 13ut deny me not that, thou silent 
Destiny. Dry the eye, and then close it, 
still the heart, and then break it. But 
when the spirit wings its flight to a fair 
Heaven, when the New Year opens in a 
purer world, where all again meet and 
love, then I will speak my wishes. Yet, 
no, for then I shall be happy." 

We read, we sang, and "fledged the 
hours with music;" we "chased the hours 
with flying feet," exchanged many a plea- 
sant word and thought, and song, and 
dream, and story,and when at last the beau- 
tiful day came to its close, exclaimed with 
S. Augustine, "Everything that ends is 
so short," feeling " a beautiful chapter " 
in life was closing. We had tried to 
swallow the pleasure slowly, so as to taste 
every drop, and its sweetness did not 
wholly exhale on the tongue. As Webster 
said of Ids visit to the poet Rogers, " The 
pleasure of my visit is not with me the 
felicity of a few weeks only. I fund it, 
and intend to get a very nice annuity out 
of it. As long as I live I shall be receiv- 
ing a dividend whenever I think of it !" 
So will it be with these Holiday memo- 
ries. 

As the Ebon Knight was leaving, he left 
in my hand another illuminated volume, 
as a New Year Offering. As the royal 
gift of England is Tapestry, of France 
Sevres, of llussia Malachite, so the royal 
gift of this knightliest of Knights seems to 
be an offering from his Scriptorium, and 



77 



none could be of more acceptable charac- 
ter to me. This was Mackay's exquisite 
" Salaraandrine. " He said it was a work 
of j^ears — a piece of his life — a part of 
himself, interwoven in the varied designs, 
ran gins: from grave to gay, as his humor 
was, and " the spirit moved. " He thought 
never to part with it, but now knew that 
from the first penciling to the last all had 
been traced for me, he was kind enough 
to say. The beautiful words in which he 
expressed this, were lost in my surprise. 
I can only give you their spirit and drift. 
Would that I could recall them I I was 
glad to hide my glowing face in my own 
room, and be at liberty to enjoy my trea- 
sure. With my strong love for sortis 
hihlocce, I opened it at random, to see 
what it would say to me, and the first 
words that met my eye were — 

" Sweet Amethysta. 
There came an answer to his thought, 
Soft as a breeze amid the grass. 
The air, the skv, the very stars, 
The pale and waning moon — 
All seemed with one accord to join, 
The sweet, entrancing tune ; 
And the burden of it seemed to be, 
Oh ! love is chief felicity ! 
To man on earth — to sprites above, 

Chief felicity is Love I" 

I had never seen the poem before, and 
my heart rose and fell beneath its influ- 
ences, as waves obey the currents sweep- 
ing them. I read of the exquisite Sala- 
mandrine. 



" Sitting like a goddess bright, 
In the centre of her light," 

so pure 

" An angel might have stooped to see, 
And blessed her for her purity." 

Of her beautiful mind and form, but 
mortal soul, which, though composed of 
such pure elements, it would live for 
centuries, yet would be always hope- 
less, despairing, unable to reach the 
eternal enjoyments of heaven, unless she 
could win the pure love of a human soul, 
when Love would give her Immortality. 
The hero is heir to the riches and honors of 
the world, and his hand promised without 
his heart, where best it can add gold to 
gold, honor to honor. He meets the beau- 
tiful Sylph, and, unmindful of the vows 
upon him, yields to her "divine, enchant- 
ing ravishments. '- 

"Ah ! Gilbert, when the morning dawned, 
Thou wert a love-entangled boy, 
One glance of Amethys^a's eyes, 
Shot through thy heart delirious joy." 

At last the stern voice of duty calls him 
home, though her ''sweet looks, and 
sweeter words, invite to linger still." 

"Alas for youth, alas for truth ! 
That Time his course will never stay ! 
And that his touch, however light, 
Is always sure to brush away 
Some pleasure, that can never more 
Return as freshly as before." 

He leaves, and the beguiling voices of 



78 



home lead him to the Altar with his affi- 
anced Bride, while Amethysta mourns 
and moans : 

"He's gone ! and to her eyes the sun grows dim, 
There is no music in the sweet birds' hymn, 
The air seems thick, and darliuess veils the 

day, 
He's gone, all's black ! — the world has lost its 

ray." 

Her Salamander Brother, enraged at 
his faithlessness, transforms the hero at 
the Altar into an old man, and " stricken 
with eld," disowned by family and friends, 
he wanders desolate and forsaken, while 
"all the prayer that he could breathe, 
was a prayer to be forgot. " At length he 
gains a shelter from a poor, old woman, 
and he is willing to go forth, and toil, and 
moil, and delve to serve her, from the first 
dawn of morning until the evening ; not 
knowing it was the Salamandrine trans- 
formed. 

" Sweet loving-kindness ! if thou shine, 
The plainest face may seem divine, 
And beauty's self grow doubly bright, 
In the mild glory of her light !" 

Daily does it become easier and sweeter 
to serve her, for 

" If the mind be strong in love, 
The body can endure," 

until at length, Joy I Joy I Love is born, 
now all will go well. The one cry of his 
being comes to be, 

''"Whate'cr thy joy, be mine to share, 
Whate'er thy grief, be mine to bear," 



and both are transformed into their old 
beautiful forms, and though the excess of 
joy kills the Salamandrine, and she dies 
in rapture on her lover's breast, it is with 
the triumphant words upon her lips, 

*' My happy soul shall never die, 
Love gives it Immortality," 

and both feel it to be the key-note of the 
eternal song which they shall sing together 
in the beautiful hereafter. 

"Was it not good in the Black Knight to 
give it to me? And yet, why did he do it? 
Can I, ought I, to accept it? Shall I take 
counsel of other than my own heart con- 
cerning it? Would it not be unmaidenly 
so to do ? "Would it be investing it with 
a meaning it was not intended to convey? 
Like the "three old maids tied to an 
apple-tree," I go wandering up and down, 
sighing, " Oh I dear, dear ! "What can the 
matter be?" All through the days which 
have passed since I received it, I have 
walked as in a dream, and though every- 
day mingling in festivities of the season 
together, we have had no tete-a-tete^ though 
a sense of watchful tenderness surrounds 
me like an atmosphere making itself felt 
constantly in my inner consciousness. 
Every pebble is rolled away from before 
my feet. Thousands of thoughtful little 
attentions fall from him, "silent as the 
dew;" nor hath he "ever chanced to 
know that aught were easier than to 
bless." 



79 



CHAPTER YIII. 



January 6th. Our Epiphany services 
in the dear little Church were so beauti- 
fully fitting, that every face bore the 
legible inscription, "We have seen His 
star in the East, and are come to worship 
Him I" To-night we held a crowning 
festival, the dear and sacred Twelfth 
Night Feast, with all its time-honored 
ceremonies, and quaint, suggestive cus- 
toms. Twelfth Night songs were sung, 
the children appearing in the costume 
of "The Three Kings of Orient," and 
giving us a little play, hardly a " miracle 
play," but a Twelfth Night play their 
mother had written for them. It has 
ever seemed a rarely beautiful feast to 
me, and one most appropriately marked 
by gifts, in remembrance of the gifts of 
the •' Wise Men." No pictures move me 
more than those of the "adoration of the 
Magi." It has been such a favorite sub- 
ject for Christian art, that nearly all of the 
great masters have made their concep- 
tions live and glow upon canvas. I re- 
member the first one I saw, in which all 
the light in the picture streamed from the 
face of the Holy Child. It was like a 
revelation, and I walked in the light of it 
many days. On Christmas-eve, the black 
knight read an impromptu to Santa 



Claus, entitling it "An Appeal to our 
Patron Saint, St. Nicholas," asking for 
" a place in his memory," and generous 
distribution of his gifts and blessings to 
each and all of our concordant club. 

Just before going down this evening I 
scribbled hastily a response from the dear 
old Saint, entitling it " Santa Claus to his 
Children. The last rustle of his wings 
over them," and, as I know dear Familiar, 
you will look at it through the softening 
glorification glasses of love, I will e'en 
copy for you, trusting your love, and not 
their merit, may make them acceptable. 

The holidays have come and gone, 
Since your appeal before their dawn, 
But warmly iu my heart of hearts, 
I cherish you, who there bore part ; 
And at tlieir close this sweet Twelfth Night, 
Ere you blow out your Christmas lig:hts, 
Would sinor, responsive to your greeting, 
A farewell song at hour of parting. 

Like sweetest music came the lay, 
Petitioning for Christmas day, 
Or I had passed your floating sign, 
Without a thought of drawing line. 
Wooed by the spirit of your plea, 
I straight made haste your home to see 
And when I saw your faces true, 
I smiled my sweetest smile on you. 

Above your house I waved my torch, 



80 



Placed Christmas sprites upon your porch. 

Aud c-ave to every joy you had, 

The flavorins: that made it glad. 

Sent sweetest dreams to cheer your rest, 

Each one, a fragrant memorj' pressed, 

A spell o'er you to keep, I cast 

Your Christmas liumor to the last. 

I sat beside you when you spread 
The Christmas Carols out and read, 
Was with you in the merry dance, 
In all your frolics bore a lance — 
On the hearth-stone filled the stockings. 
O'er each pillow waved my win2:s. 
And when done was all my journey, 
Came and rested on your chimney 

Then perched upon your Christmas tree. 
And strove to answer all your plea, 
Hanging its love-lad n branches, 
With the sweetest of my riches. 
Gifts for old and young entwining 
With the Holy Christ Child's blessing. 
Striving none to overlook. 
Whose names were written in your book. 

A parting benison, more precious far, 

Than gifts of gold, incense, and myrrh, 

I wave above j'ou now, 

And with it you endow, 

This gift commemoration shall make nearer 

The gift unspeakable and dearer. 

So shall you honor Christmas in your hearts. 

And show its spirit in your daily parts. 

I fain would find at next Yule-tide, 
All gathered here, who side by side, 
Have sung for me the roundelay, 
*' Blessed be holidays." 
With this last wish floats my adieu. 
The lights are burning dim and blue, 
Keep green the memory of my fires. 
And kindle next year's lyre. 
With this Yule-log of the heart ! 



The spirit of the season made the house- 
hold receive this so kindly, all insisted 
upon having a copy to preserve as a leaflet 
of memory. Cousin Kate has a rare facul- 
ty of gathering up and reproducing pretty 
seasonable customs. Indeed, this is one 
branch of her studies upon the art of 
making home happy. Finally, the pretty 
ceremonials were all gone through, and 
the Twelfth Night Cake was duly cut, 
when the Fates and the Spirits of Mis- 
chief conspired together that the two 
rings should fall to the lot of Mr. Morti- 
mer ■ and me, whereupon the cousins 
must needs laugh endlessly, and I blush 
"celestial rosy red," making myself a 
very whetstone for them to sharpen their 
wits upon. Thereupon I fell to telling 
merry stories to hide my blushes, very 
likely betraying, in this very way, the 
"tempest in a teapot," the silly gmen 
signifying nothing, had conjured up. I 
proposed drinking to the coincidence in 
Chian wine, and in everything, "from 
humble Port to Imperial Tokay, " begging 
to be fattened and pampered, and deli- 
cately nurtured before being offered, sing- 
ing, 

" And I loves you, and you loves me. 
And, oh, how happy we shall be," 

and an infinite deal of nothings, making 
them perceive my embarrassment, "not 
wisely but too well," while thinking my- 
self a very "dragon of discretion," with 
my Talagh-hill talk (an Irish phrase for 



81 



words that mean nothing). "My heart 
was too big for my bosom," that hour. 
Poor, foolish Rebecca ! When wilt thou 
learn repose of feeling, thought, and man- 
ner. As well talk to an aspen leaf of 
quiet. Theodora would not have done so, 
nor Alice. Thou almost out-Constanced 
Constance ! but the wild merriment sits 
not so naturally on thy shoulders as on 
hers. We know her quiver is always filled 
with arrows, and are never surprised at 
any "volley of words, quickly shot off." 
Thus have I shunned the fire for fear of 
burning, '"and drowned me in the sea, 
where I am drowned." 

As the adieus were being said, this 
same companion of thering begged me in 
most chivalric phrase to exchange rings 
with him, "In Memoriam." I thought 
no harm, regarding the whole but as a 
Twelfth Kight spart, and not until I was 
in my room did I perceive the ring he had 
substituted was only plain upon the outer 
side, evidently put on with care, to hide 
the gleaming Opal on the other side. 
Straightway my heart began to throb and 
palpitate, and therefore it is my pen 
dances such rigadoons to night, instead of 
telling the story I sat down to tell, hoping 
to find, in the effort, an opiate to quiet 
the tintinnabulations of this same poor 
throbbing heart. Really this is going too 
far I Would he have me compromise 
myself by acceptance of this ring, before 
he has spoken a word of love to me ? At 
least, before he has made a declaration of 



the kind ? lie is strangely careless of my 
feelings to do so. And yet it is unlike 
him to disregard the feelings of any one. 
Can it be he considers he has sung the 
song, and I have listened ! He takes too 
much upon him. Too much for granted. 
My burden is growing too heavy to be 
borne alone. I must go to-morrow to 
Cousin Harry, Kate or Auntie. I am not 
mistress of myself. Have ceased to be 
queen over my own heart. Is it in the 
keeping of another ? Do I wish to place 
it there ? All is unrest and disquietude. 
Why did envious Fate send him here, 
to this far away Eden, to which I fled 
from my desolated home, as to a haven 
of rest, afar from all that could disturb 
and annoy. I was so satisfied, so con- 
tent, so happy. Why ? Why did he en- 
ter this "garden oi delights," and de- 
stroy the peacefulness thereof? Stay! 
Do I truly wish he had not come V — 
Would the place be brighter if he should 
go ? Woe's me I Woe's me ! I dare not 
say. Oh, say a prayer ! say a prayer ! 
for the little maiden, for she hath great 
need. Oh I 'tis a weary heart that asks. 
A heart struggling, and battling, pant- 
ing with the strife. " Do I love, or do 
I notV" Am I loved or am I not? — 
This is the simplest statement of the 
problem. Let me view it calmly, truly, 
earnestly. True love is beautiful, and 
"worthy of all acceptation." What did 
he say of the opal that night, that seems 
so long ago, before all this unrest and 



82 



agitation crept into my sometime peace- 
ful heart ? 

' ' I have had a treasured Opal for 
many years, and in its depths, I see re- 
flected the soul of my soul, my soul's 
sister, who shall give to me of the good 
treasures of heart and soul and mind, 
in full and overflowing measures, 'till my 
cup and heart and life, run over with ful- 
ness of content. It is to me a heart, in 
which all things fair and bright and beau- 
tiful find a resting place, with room to 
grow, and send out beams and scintilla- 
tions to make glad not only my poor 
heart, but all with whom she comes in 
contact, and who shall bo to me more 
dear than much fine gold, and with whom 
all beautiful and bright and precious 
things to which I may compare her, but 
half express how lovely she is to me." 
The words are graven as with a diamond 
point upon heart and brain, with " lead 
in the rock forever." What shall I do ? 
What shall I do ? Can it be he has thus 
given me of the " gold and purple" of his 
heart ? If I wear the ring to-morrow, 
what then ? If I do not wear it, what I 
Oh I my mother ! my mother ! I can 
never need thee more, and never did I 
feel thy loss so much as now ! Can'st thou 
from thy bright sphere look down upon thy 
poor, sorely tried child, and not send a light 
upon the way in which she must walk? I 
would it were morning, that I might go to 
Aunt Ruth, my second mother, as "^thou 
would'st bid me, could'st thou speak. 



So surprised and almost stupefied by 
the discovery of the Opal was I on com- 
ing to my room, and afterward so bent 
upon finding quiet and Kepenthe in com- 
pelling thought to turn into other chan- 
nels by chronicling the Twelfth Kight 
merriment, I forgot entirely a book the 
Knight of the Ring left in my hand at 
parting. I hardly dare reach forth my 
hand to cut the string that binds it in its 
dainty wrapping, lest "Alps on Alps arise" 
to baffle me. And yet it may unravel 
somewhat the tangled meshes of the net 
in which I struggle, only to entangle my- 
self more and more, in its silken cords. 
I must open it. 

Mrs. Browning's Sonnets from the Por- 
tuguese ! 
Later — 

Oh I how beautiful I how beautiful they 
are ! Like slow and solemn music they 
move across my soul. Listen, dear Famil- 
iar I I hear the tones of his voice in 
every word ; 

" I feci that I shall stand 
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore 
Alone upon the threshold of my door 
Of Individual life, I shall command 
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand 
Serenely in the sunshine as before, 
Without the sense of that which I forbore 
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land 
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine 
With pulses that beat double. What I do 
And what I dream include thee, as the wine 
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue 
God for myself, He hears that name of thine. 
And sees within my eyes, the tears of two." 



83 



And again — 

" The face of all the world is changed, I think, 
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul 
Move still, oil, still beside me." 

And still again — 

" How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 

For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace. 

I love thee to the level of everv-day's 

Most quiet need, by sun and cuudle-light. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right ; 

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise ; 

I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith ; 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my losi saints — I love thee with the breath, 

Smiles, tears, of all my life !~and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death." 

January 7th, evening. 

This morning when I rose all nature 
seemed in sympathy with me, so entirely 
was her fair face enveloped in fog — only 
less deep and impenetrable than the one 
enveloiDing my soul. But afterward I 
liad a long, quiet hour, with the dear, 
beautiful Auntie, and "climbed up out 
of the fogs, and sat quiet in the sunlight, 
on the hill-side of faith." I was agitated 
a-^ a frightened bird when I sat down at 
her feet, and hid my face in her lap, but 
the touch of her soft fingers upon my 
head, fell ''like the benediction that fol- 
lows after prayer." Like the mother of 
Kitty Trevillyan, she has an infectious 
Gerenity about her that hushes to rest the 



waves of anxiety and passion, as the 
"peace be still" of the Infinite Love 
calmed the tossing waves of the sea. 

"I know it ali, my child," she said, 
" for days I have felt there was a burden 
upon your mind, which was seriously dis- 
turbing your peace. I knew not in what 
damp and noxious vapor it had its rise, 
but none the less earnestly, did I sympa- 
thize with you, and pray f(>r you. 1 knew 
if you needed me, j'ou would come to me, 
and until you did, I entered beneath the 
shadow and sat down there with you, 
humbly hoping and trusting, knowing 
that a shadow is often but the wing of the 
All Merciful, hiding from sorrow and sin. 
Last evening you betrayed yourself to me 
in your excited effort to appear uncon- 
cerned at the raillery which you met." 

Then I told her all. Opened my heart 
as a book for her to read, leaving no little 
fold turned down. This in itself was a 
relief, almost like the rolling off of a bur- 
den. When I had finished and paused 
for a reply, she said : 

"I can give you an infallible rule for 
guidance, Rebecca. Never betroth your- 
self to one you can live without. Unless 
life is a blank — a world without a sun — 
wanting him, you are still sufficient to 
yourself." 

As I left her, she added, softly, " Your 
position is very trying, darling. Far more 
trying than Mr. Mortimer appreciates, 
and the happiness of many lives has beeti 
wrecked in this very way. Indeed I be- 



84 



lieve more hearts have bee a broken upon 
this rock, than upon any other in the Sea 
of Love. There can be no greater mis- 
take, than to fail to give voice to what is 
felt. It is unconsciously taking for granted 
what every womanly instinct shrinks from 
having taken for granted, and is strangely 
ungenerous and unappreciative. Would 
that every true knight could see it in this 
light. In all times and places you have seen 
his heart gushing out all unconsciously 
and felt that its voice was love, yet not 
for one moment could you allow your 
thoughts to rest on the consciousaess. In 
every other vital stage of life men strive 
to make themselves clearly understood by 
the use of words, conveying the meaning 
they wish to express as nearly as possi- 
ble. Why not in this, in which the hap- 
piness of this world, andthenext, trembles 
in the balance ? His attentions admit 
but one interpretation. Why should he 
not say, ' I love you I Will you be my 
wife ?' However, dearie," she said with 
the sweet playfulness that never forsakes 
her wholly, ''I will not climb the judg- 
ment seat for him. Your thoughts, and 
feelings, and sayings, and doings, con- 
cern me much more n^^arly. Question 
your heart upon your knees before your 
God, and I will pray for you the while." 

When I came to my room upon my 
table there lay a letter, with the signet I 
had several times seen upon notes from 
Mr. Mortimer. I took it up reverently, 
as if turning a leaf of destiny, and un- 



folded it upon my knees, my soul all 
prayer the while. 

My Deati Miss Rebecca : Surely you 
will give me a word to-night. An answer 
to the mute appeal of the ring and sou- 
nets. The happiness of my life hangs 
upon it. I give you all. Tell me how I 
can win your love. My heart is too full 
for words. Come, let me take you to my 
heart ; to love you tenderly. Lay your 
head upon my breast ; I will put my arms 
around you, and as long as life shall last, 
even until life's end, I will rejoice in 
your joy, and sympathize in your sorrow. 
Come to me, dearest, if your heart so in- 
clines you, in joy or grief, you shall be 
ever most welcome. Come to me now, 
while the world is bright, and if ever it 
should grow dark and weary, then will 
you find my heart indeed true to you ; 
then shall you lay your burden upon me, 
and I will help to bear it. I seem to my- 
self like the child crying for the moon, so 
far, far beyond my reach gleams your 
peerless love. I have so little to offer. A 
loving heart and honest, a pair of hands 
willing and anxious to do for you, will 
they be an acceptable ottering, with the 
assurance that nothing shall be wanting 
to you, that boundless love can supply, for 
that is yours. Reverently, 

Mortimer. 
Is it maidenly to say, heart, soul, and 
being were flooded, n-radiated with light 
beyond the light of the sun as I read. A 



joy boundless, irrepressible took posses- 
sion of my soul, dilating it with inexpres- 
sible blessedness. The supreme liour had 
come. The supreme p;oad. Life's prim- 
eval word, Love, had been spoken, and I 
was entirely, supremely, unutterably glad. 
"Healed, as the sick are healed, when 
fanned by the leaves of the Holy Boak." 
January 8th. A transcendently beauti- 
ful day ; sunshine in my heart and on the 
hills. All day yesterday I was uninter- 
rupted in my joy. Every outside sugges- 
tion kept from me as by magic, but I 
knew the magic was in dear Auntie's 
thoughtful way of arranging things, in 
her quiet, noiseless, unobtrusive manner, 
making her greatest exertions seem but 
as matters of course. She sent my meals 
to my room, saying, she had excused me 
for the day, and not until all had sought 
their chambers for the eight, did she 
come with her angel-like presence to me. 
She said nothing as she folded me in her 
loving arms, but I knew she was glad, de- 
voutly glad, and that her sympathy was 
too deep for utterance. The perfection 
of sympathy is sometimes silence. Job's 
friends, when they came to sympathize 
with him in his sorrow, sat down in silence 
with him seven days and nights, for '' they 
saw that his grief was very great. "And ' 'Si- 
lence is the perfectest herald of joy." 
When at last we sat with clasped hands, 
with her dear, true eyes full of trust fixed 
upon me, she spoke words beautiful as the 
star of hope of Mr. Mortimer. Oh, how 



good it was I How deliciously they fell 
upon m}^ heart ! And then she told me 
how good it was for her to be near me 
now ; how she had longed to be of use to 
me. (What have I done, or what am I, 
that so much love should be given me, 
while so many others, so much more wor- 
thy, are left desolate and alone?) She said, 
"Remember always, Rebecca, that I 
yearn to make the years of experience 
that I am in advance of you, of service to 
you and my other nieces. I shall study 
it, and shall feel that I am receiving a 
rich ' recompense of reward ' for all I 
have learned and suffered. Remember 
this always, and tell me if at any time I 
can add to your happiness, if only one 
mite. My past life has been crossed with 
some very dark lines, I would most gladly 
that the lessons learned by them should 
profit others. Lessons learned in many 
tears, but, oh ! so necessary. Lessons of 
humility and love that you will never 
have to be taught, I hope and believe. 
But my darling Rebecca, some things, 
you as all must learn and suffer. Oh I I 
hope it may be mine to comfort you, 
when the dark hour comes. I will not 
complain if you forget me, when life wears 
only a smile, if you will remember and 
turn to me when the sky is overcast, and 
the dark clouds hide the light of hope and 
joy. If you will come to my true heart 
then, until then I will not be jealous of any 
who can do more for your happiness than 
I. Of all the vocations on earth, none 



seems to me so desirable as that of the 
' minister of consolation. ' So large and 
various are the sources of comfort that 
open themselves to me, that it would be 
a joyful work to dispense, as from an 
overflowing fountain, that which should 
heal every wounded spirit, and pour the 
oil of joy into every bleeding heart. As 
you will judge, my own heart has been 
abundantly consoled in its sorrows, and I 
look back upon many years of darkness, 
to be thankful that they have jjassed 
away, and that in their train light and 
enduring peace have come. My earthly 
hopes have not wakened to life again. 
It is impossible they ever should, but in 
their place is a deep, quiet waiting for the 
time when I ' shall bind again my broken 
ties in ever-living love.' " 

We talked until very late, and then she 
left me that I might write a note to Mr. 
Mortimer. I cannot say "Yes" to him 
at once. He thinks me so much more 
worthy than I am. He has invested me 
with all the charms of his Ideal. I must 
tell him of my many faults and short- 
comings, and what is the " sum of me," 
and then, and then ! 

Good night, dear Familiar. I must 
turn to thoughts of the Black Knight, to 
find in them very absorbing companion- 
ship. 

January 10 th. Oh, happy day ! oh, happy 
day ! I sent my long letter this morning, 
freighted with the sum of all my uglinesses, 
as faithfully confessed as if upon the stool 



of the confessional. I told him the story of 
my life — of the sweet and pleasant child and 
girl, and maidenhood, in which no "breath 
ever blew upon me too roughly," until I 
learned that "death was in the world," 
and saw the angels of my life and heart, 
and home, the father and mother both, fall 
into his cold embrace in one short week. 
Truly Mrs. Norton saith, the "lightest 
hearts make oftimes deepest mourning." 
I told him how I mourned — how in my 
anguished loneliness my one cry was 
" Let me too go." I knew " there was a 
harp-string pausing for its tone, a palm 
that would be waving," and they could 
not linger, but on every breeze flashed the 
Hebrew Dirge, ' ' Mourn for the mourner, 
not for the dead, they are at rest, but we 
in tears." I felt it not right for him to 
take a heart, over which the desolating 
tempest had passed, thinking to find the 
freshness and poetry of one that had 
"never known a sorrow, or felt a care." 
One can never be the same after a sorrow 
so deep, and dark, and dread. I told him 
faithfully, of the years in which I almost 
wept my life away, when the glory seemed 
all departed from the world, and I felt as 
much alone as " the corse within its 
shroud." "My soul was often on my 
lips, ready to take wing. God and Love 
held it back for the ordeal of life." The 
love of this household fell on my stricken 
heart like "rain on the desert, "and though 
still " the shadow creeps and creeps, an<l is 
ever looking over the shoulder of the sun- 



87 



shine," yd my hccirt "weeps no more, 
only trembles as our eyelids when we 
have been weeping." But the scars are 
left, and I know what it is to weep and 
moan. Some of the sonnets from the Por- 
tuguese seem passes torn from my quiver- 
ing breast. Truly could I say : 

" I lift my heavy heart up solemnly, 
As, once Electra her Sepulchral Urn, 
And looking in their eyes, I overturn 
The ashes at thy feet." 

and question, "Can I pour thy wine, 
while my hands tremble V" The Thirty- 
fifth seemed an echo of the voice of m}'- 
soul. 

" If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And be all to me ? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing, and the common kiss 
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange 
When I look up, to drop on a new range 
Of walls and floors. Another home than this? 
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is 
Filled by dead eyes, too tender to know change 
That's hardest." 

I longed to add, " Open thine heart 
wide, and fold within, the wet wings of 



thy love, but not yet ! Xot yet ! Poor 
Heart ! 

As I finished writing, day was dawning, 
and I hoped some good angel would 
waken the good Knight that he might 
look upon it. The whole Heavens were 
of a midnight blackness, and all earth 
shrouded in its gloom, when a line of light 
broke from the east, stretching from 
horizon to horizon, oh ! so purely beauti- 
ful. It seemed to me I never gazed upon 
a light so pure and holy. My heart was 
very tired, with its pilgrimage to broken 
shrines, when I caught its reflection upon 
the wall, and sprang up to see what it 
was, but oh ! how exultingly it leaped up 
to greet it, even with the gladsome bound 
of the old childish heart, and early words 
came from my lips even as they used to 
do, "Joy! Joy! there's hope! there's 
hope ! the Rainbow's in the sky !" I 
stood long by the window, wondering 
what the wild" winds were saying as they 
swept by on the wings of the morning. 
They strengthened me like winds from 
over the sea, so that happy dreams came 
soon as my head touched the pillow. 



88 



CHAPTER IX. 



Evening. This afternoon the Sable 
Knight came for me to drive. I shall 
never forget the glad tenderness in his 
eye, as he lifted my hand to his lips, rev- 
erently as he could have laid a gift on an 
altar. "A ring of Amethyst," I could not 
wear here plainer to my sight, than that 
first kiss upon ray ungloved hand. I 
had gloved the left one before going down, 
that the Opaline gleams might not fore- 
stall the peradventures stirring at my 
heart for utterance. The day was radi- 
antly beautiful. The sky, one vast " blue 
sea of blessedness." The sleighing per- 
fect, everything conspiring to make the 
ride a "jewel among the diamonds of 
circumstance." He gave me the story 
of his life I had so longed to hear, a story 
like my own, save that his period of 
brightness was shorter. The loss of his 
father falling upon him at six, and of his 
mother at ten, since which he had been a 
lonely waif, with no relatives in this 
country, and no near ones left even in 
England (the home of both fjarents). He 
showed me their miniatures, and told me 
of their beautiful lives, and his empty 
heart, into wliich I had crept and become 
enshrined so deeply that nothing could 
draw me thence. It was as if I were 



listening to wonderful strains of music to 
hearken to his words — words all too sacred 
to be repeated, which will echo forever 
and forever through the love-lighted 
chambers of my soul. We talked of the 
beautiful light in which the Church 
teaches her children to look upon the tie 
nearest and dearest upon earth, declaring 
it to be typical of the "mystical unity 
between Christ and His Church" — His 
spotless Bride, " The Mother of us all." 

I told him that while our Mother's 
voice, like faint and far-off music, whis- 
pered of unnumbered blessings springing 
from the holy bond, it spoke in clarion 
tones of duties also, and that I could not 
go farther without asking if his ideal 
Home were such as one of her pledged 
and plighted children's should be, for 
even were it to be the test of my love, 
mine must be no other. I asked if the 
gleaming of Christmas garlands would be 
pleasant at his hearth, and the bloom of 
Easter, Whitsun, and Ascension flowers, 
the keeping of Festival and Fast. If he 
would be willing their influence should be 
felt throughout his home, at his board, and 
in his pleasures. There are times when 
this is a cross. Could he accept it without 
a thought of bitterness, and count it 



89 



blessed. These may seem very little 
things to you, dear Familiar, but to me 
they are spirit, they are life. Had you 
felt them leading you ever nearer to God, 
deepening your devotion, and enhancing 
every joy, you would not wonder that 
tears start at the very thought of giving 
up the least of them, still less that a great 
joy filled my being, when I received his 
assurance that the "dear Home Festivals, 
with every month entwined," would be 
no less welcome to him. Oh I how good 
it was. You can hardly imasrine, dear 
Familiar, the force and ])ower with which 
the Church's voice of guidance comes to 
one who was made her child in earliest 
days, in who-e heart with the love for the 
mother at the fireside grew the love of 
the Spiritual Mother. I could not love her 
less, " whilst I recollect that she bore me 
a senseless and helpless thing in her kind 
arms to my Saviour at my baptism, that the 
hand of her blessing has been laid on me 
and on the hea'ls of those most dear to 
me in the holiest hour of their lives, that 
day after day I come a faint and weary 
pilgrim to receive from her ' the bread of 
the strong' to strengthen me in my jour- 
ney, that the voice of her consolation has 
sounded to me from the graves of my well- 
beloved, and that she cheers me with the 
belief that I at last shall rest in Christ, as 
my hope is my loved ones do." We 
talked of this, and of the beautiful teaching 
of the Church to her daughters, that the 
step from the maiden to the wife is one of 



advance in dignity and station in the 
Church of Christ, charging them by all 
that is dear and holy to walk worthy of 
the vocation wherewith they are called, 
fulfilling the mission for which God created 
them, even the rearing of Holy Homes. 
We talked of a Home that should be as a 
haven of rest from the unrest without — 
the sunniest corner of the world to those 
who cast anchor there — the dearest, most 
gladsome nook — the earnest and pledge of 
the better Home in Heaven. He said 
Christian homes should be as " the shad- 
ows of Heavenly places." 

I shall not tell you of all the troubles I 
found in my troublous heart to trouble 
him Vy^ith ; suffice it, we watched the stars 
come out softly, one by one, as we drove 
homeward — our Heaven without a cloud, 
and our hearts pledged indissolubly for- 
ever. 

We both stand so alone in the world 
there really is no one to consult but our- 
selves, yet out of courtesy, like the true 
and honorable Knight he is, Mr. Morti- 
mer sought Cousin Harry's study imme- 
diately upon our return, and laid before 
him his suit, and then calling dear Auntie 
aside received from her good words and 
true, and best of all her benediction. If 
an anjxel's voice were to come to me, I 
could hardly listen to it with more trust- 
fulness, and reverence than to hers, and 
in truth I believe those near her, rarely 
doubt that angel whispers are stealing to 
them through it. After their sanction 



90 



we cared not if the banns were ''hung on 
the horns of the moon," and fully did he 
illustrate my ideal of "the mirror of 
Knighthood," a,s he came in with Auntie 
on his arm, and crossed the room, where 
the household and the brother Knights 
wereassembled,tomyside,andsaid,toher, 
" Will you give her to me V" I rose, and 
she reverently placed my hand in his, and 
laying hers upon our heads blessed us 
solemnly like one of the Patriarchs of old. 
"Yea, and they shall be blessed," said 
Cousin Harry, "Blessed be he that bless- 
eth" them ! 

Then came congratulations, and well- 
wishings, and pleasant words, and merry 
jests, and all went " merry as a marriage- 
bell," at the unexpected impromptu es- 
pousal. "Now tread we a measure," 
quoth Cousin Kate to do honer to the occa- 
sion, and grace the Bethrothal, that soon 
we may dance at the Wedding, And 
seating herself at the piano, she struck 
up " Haste to the Wedding. " All sprang 
to their feet as if at a challenge to show 
their joy by their " twinkling feet." Mer- 
rier measures were never trod. 

It was a white day, and it was well to 
mark it with a white stone. How good 
it was in them all to reflect so unselfishly 
our joy, and be so glad in our gladness. 
You would have thought a personal bless- 
ing had come to each, so sweet, so pass- 
ing sweet was their unselfish sympa.thy. 

Constance danced like a fairy, as if 
borne upon the top wave of joy, ever and 



anon breaking out into singing, "Oh I 
there's naught in life like making love, 
save making hay in fine weather," and 
"" 'Tis love, tis love that rules us all com- 
pletely." 

Our laughter bag was all unbound, and 
fast the peals did sound, until we sank 
breathless in our chairs, fairly intoxicated 
with joy. 

Cousin Harry exclaiming, " Without a 
taste of love it is tedious even at Court, 
it is said. We are under a debt of grati- 
tude to this considerate pair for provid- 
ing that our miniature Court should be 
robbed of all 'taste of tediousness.' " 

"Let us make them due obeisance," 
said Constance, with a profound salaam. 
" They were undoubtedly wholly disinter- 
ested in their effort to provide us with a 
love-story." 

"They feared perhaps," said Alice, 
"that without it the journal of our win- 
ter would prove a second edition of a 
Diary of an Ennuyee.'''' 

"Yes," replied Constance mercilessly 
continuing her raillery, "I think Mr. Mor- 
timer should allow us to hear Rebecca called 
' Barbara' the first time. In one of Miss 
Bremer's novels the supreme moment is 
noted by, ' And he said Thou to her,' our 
climax will be ' and he said Barbara to 
her.'" 

"Nay, nay Miss Constance, we'll still 
keep something to ourselves we'd scarcely 
tell to 'ony. But keek through every 



91 



other man, wi' sharpened, sly inspection," 
exclaimed Mr. Mortimer. 

"I shall subside then into a dainty, 
sweet melancholy," she replied. 

" 'Tis a dainty state, and a dainty 
liking shared by the poets, we are told," 
he returned. 

"This is the last, unkinde&t, most 
knife-like cut of all, leaving us on the 
'toasting-fork of curiosity,' while you 
bask in the sunlight. ' All round my hat 
I wear a green willow,' " she exclaimed, 
tragically. 

" Yes," said Alice, "I had often heard 
the comparison, ' sweet as the sound of 
lovers' tones by night,' and thought to 
taste their sweetness, and be entranced 
by their melody from this time forth. 
You surely are not going to disappoint 
us of this share in your cup of felicity." 

"It is no small thing," said Mr. Carl- 
ton, " to come within the atmosphere of 
' love's young dream,' I ask no more. My 
cup runs over with its fullness of con- 
tent." 

" I would fain be the casket to receive all 
the love-passages afloat," laughed Alice. 
"It is the old sweet story, ever new, 
never pallincr on the taste." 

" And if I were the ' maiden all for- 
lorn,' " said Constance, " I should be glad 
to have 'every tea-cup and coflfee-cup 
rattle it abroad,' but chacun a son gout^ 
' our family sugar is all dissolved into the 
original cane. ' " 

"'The bitter disposition of the time 



will have it so,' " returned Theodora. 
"I share your disappointment, Constance, 
for I ' relish a love-song like a robin red- 
breast. ' It is one of those tastes that 
'increase by what they teed on,' and, 
paradoxical though it may seem, if they 
keep silence, it will be an audible blemish 
in their love." 

"A lover," rejoined Mr. Montague, 
"or a sweetheart, a bride or bridegroom, 
are never-ceasing objects of interest. Old 
ladies, and old gents, too, hurry to the 
window to watch the interesting objects 
pass, with eyes that followed the mother, 
and perchance the grandmother or grand- 
father on their same interest-inspiring 
way." 

"Yes," said dear Auntie, "there are 
no more willing ears bent to listen to the 
story of love, than those that have passed 
the work-a-day, and reached the resting- 
time. For my part, I am as fond of a 
love-story as a nightingale is of a rose." 

"I trust you will not die of one, 'in 
aromatic pain,' " quoth merry Constance. 

"]Srot of yours, Mignonne, for 'by my 
troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee 
a husband if thou be so shrewd of thy 
tongue.' " 

"Oh ! jon misuse me past the endur- 
ance of a clock ; an oak, with but one 
green leaf on it, would have answered you. 
You speak poiniards, and every word 
stabs," said Constance. 

" My Lady Tongue, I reverse my pro- 
phesy, and believe I shall yet see thee 



92 



fitted with a Petruchio, or Cupid cease to 
be au archer," returned Auntie. 

"Enact not only a second edition of 
'Much Ado About Nothing,' but of 
' Taming the Shrew ?' No! nol Auntie; I'll 
keep my heart on the ' windy side of 
care.' " 

"Who would have believed," asked 
Mr. Mortimer, '' when we came and 
pitched our tents among these wilds, that 
Cupid's arrows could have found their 
way hither ? I should as soon have ex- 
pected to hud springs of water in the 
desert." 

" Were you seeking an asylum for a 
too su-ceptibic heart," queried Theo- 
dora, '' when you sought this secure cita- 
del ? Or was ii to shield the Fair from 
your irresistible charms, that you im- 
mured yourself V" 

"Ah I my Lady Disdain, are you yet 
alive ? Have a care ! you will arouse all 
my porcupine characteristics by such 
questionings. I could give thirteen good 
reasons for my pilgrimage hither, but I 
spare you. It was from no desire, ^ the 
world forgetting, to be by the world for- 
got,' I assure you," replied Mr. Mortimer. 

"Pardon, Sir Knight," she returned; 
" I was only * sugaring the suspicion' you 
faintly suggested. Seriously, how strange 
and mysterious are the ways in which we 
are led. I am fain to believe some mag- 
netic influence drew Rebecca to our con- 
stellation. I wonder whether the load- 
stone or the magnet will confess to any 



myst'^rious electric thrills, as the chain 
that drew them closed closer and closer: 
around them. Here iu the Hermitage, 
looking so innocent and inoffensive, 
who would have dreamed Mr. Mortimer 
was playing the part of au undiscov 
ered star, and from his distant orbit gov^ 
erning the motions of this unsuspecting 
maiden, and drawing her from the East, 
the home of light and wisdom, to his very 
door. I begin to be afraid of him, lest 
he be a dabbler in the occult sciences. 
Who knows but he may cast his spells 
about the rest of us ?" 

"Angels and ministers of grace defend 
us ! " shuddered Constance. " The Glen 
House must be searched, and a watch set, 
lest there be there, a secret chamber, 
furnished with all the appliances of the 
Black Art— Cauldrons over which with 
Cabalistic words, and mystic utterances 
he may make us all fall in and out of love, 
at his pleasure." 

"Oh I Miss Constance," laughed Mr. 
Mortimer, " abate the strength of thy 
displeasure, ' the sum of my offense is, that 
I did love this lady,' read Othello's de- 
fense and you have mine." 

"A lover's reasons! a lovers!" cried 
she. " Be patient while I arise, and with 
divers genuflexions, and sundry pleasing 
drawings of mouth and eyes, do reverence 
to the name." And suiting the action to 
the word, she whirled some of the most 
fairy-like, graceful Pirouettes, and riga- 



93 



doons, in mock reverence, ever witnessed 
out of fairydom. 

Oh ! how merril}^ we laughed ! — laughed 
'till the dear sheeling rang with our mirth. 

"If there is no magic in it." she con- 
tinued, " the wings of circumstance may 
sometimes favor me, and bear me off to 
some 'garden of delight,' where beneath 
the shade of some umbrageous roof-tree, 
some deluded swain in a lit of sofc-heart- 
edness may talk of love to me. Why, the 
very thought of it, makes me maid of 
honor, if not "" Queen of a fantastic realm. ' 
Imagine it," she said, perching herself 
upon an arm of the sofa, as she is wont to 
do, when in great glee. "I shall strike 
an attitude, say ' Prunes and Prisms. ' — 
throw into my cerulean orbs their most 
winning, sweetest expression — wreathe 
my whole mouth (an herculean task) with 
smiles, and listen while the wooing words 
fall with silvery sound." And down she 
sprang, and commenced pacing up and 
down, like a Tragedy Queen, exclaiming, 
" think of all this happening to this little 
'phantom of delight,' this lovely appari- 
tion sent to be a moment's ornament." 

"You say nothing of the 'paragon of 
animals ' that comes to woo ! Have you 
no visions of him ?" asked Mr. Graham. 

"More things than are dreamed of in 
philosophy, find a ' lodgment, and a local 
habitation ' in my brain, but vision mas- 
culine never. Imagination could not 
stretch to the impersonation of my Ches- 
terfield ian hero. I think of him abstract- 



ly as ' Knighthood's chosen and Chivalry's 
bravest,' in visions by day, and dreams 
by night. ' ' 

" Toll us some of your dreams. Miss 
Constance," urged Mr. Graham, and I 
heard him say under his breath, or fancied 
I did, " VV'hate'er they be, may dreams as 
fair be in store for me." 

"Nay! nay! let Rebecca sing us 'bits 
of songs,' she has tasted the sweetness 
and can testify thereof. Mine remain a 
'song unsung,' 'unwritten music,' 'a tale 
untold. ' Settle yourselves now to hear of 
all the charms of the lost Eden," said the 
bewitching merry-maker planting herself 
with mock eagerness and upturned face, 
directly before me. 

" Had I the power," I replied, " to call 
up visions, miguonne, the one that would 
be most pleasant in mine eye would be, 
of your 'mischievous self, followed by 
numberless sprites, with numberless 
hands, holding numberless pins, and each 
one pricking." 

"Heart's alight I I thought love like 
music, had power to soothe the savage 
breast, vice ■cersa, it has transformed the 
gentle Rebecca into a savage. I shall 
keep goodly distance, for I can see she 
scarcely can keep her newly betrothed 
hands from indicting divers castigating 
manipulations about my ears. I knew 
that dogs with bones were dangerous, 
but never before sweethearts with lovers. 
Does the fair cousin think I want to steal 
her bone. Ah ! no, I bless my stars, it is 



94 



not mine to pick. No offense intended, 
madam," said the irrepressible child 
dropping me a low, thirteenth century 
curtesy. 

"Miss Constance, I am disappointed 
too,-' said Mr. Graham, " I thought the 
heart through love for one, grew bounti- 
ful to all. 'The Heart is like Heaven, 
the more Angels, the more room,' is a 
proverb never stale in thrifty minds. 
Are you going to turn Iconoclast and 
destroy these beautiful dreams ?— Pull 
down our Chateaux en Espagne, and let 
the stones fall about our ears — I shall 
be sorely scarred I fear." 

'• We have bat crossed the threshold of 
the Temple "I returned," are mere aco- 
lytes. Our hosts and hostess alone can tell 
us of the inner secrets. They alone have 
entered the penetralia under whose 
shadow we stand. I am sure they v/ill 
gladly act as High Priest and Priestess, 
while we sit at their feet and listen." 

"Yes," replied cousin Harry, "we 
have served before the Altar many years," 
with that kindliness and courtesy with 
which he ever strives to relieve the em- 
barrassment of his guests ; " Our one 
difficulty will be the ' embarrassment of 
riches, '"I hardly know where to begin or 
end. 'But how the subject-theme may 
gang, let time and chance determine, 
perhaps it may turn out a sang, perchance 
turn out a sermon.' Suppose you insti- 
tute yourselves catechisers and cross-ques- 



tioners, and I will play ' Sir Oracle,' and 
' when I speak let no dog bark !' " 

"I fear," said Mr. Montague, "the 
replies may be as vague as those of the 
Delphic Oracle, when we are eager to pen- 
etrate into the very heart of the matter." 

"I will take for my text," returned the 
Oracle, " ' Life's Primeval Word is Love.' 
The Finnish national poem, Kalevala, 
calls the radical words, the words with 
which the spirits and the being of nature 
rule each other, rHmeval icords ; and 
these words seem to be the Primeval- 
Being of things .themselves, the mystery 
of their inward life. Whenever they may 
be addressed or conjured in such words, 
they must answer, they must obey. Let 
me repeat : The Primeval Word of Life 
is Love ! In my credo, I have no hesita- 
tion in saying tiiere is absolute belief in 
the Omnipotence of Love. It is a theme 
that seems to carry inspiration with it, if 
we may judge from the songs that have 
been sung, and the stories told beneath 
its influence." 

" It has occurred to me," said Theodc 
" that this is not the genuine inspirat^ 
— this case before us, I mean. The c\ 
rent is running too smooth ; for aug. 
that ever I could read, could ever hear^b^ 
tale or history, the course of true love 
never did run smooth." 

"Exceptions prove the rule," replied 
the Oracle. " They arc almost too rare 
for belief, but this has the ring of the true 
metal to my experienced ear. It would 



95 



work illy into a novel, but into real life as 
naturally and sweetly as threads of gold, 
were woven in and out the woof and warp 
of knightly cloth of gold, robing the world 
in poetry. Winding the ' robes of ideality 
about the bareness of their lives, and 
hanging comforting curtains knit of 
fancy's yarn, nightly betwixt them and 
the frosty world.' " 

'•Belie vest thou that 'matches are 
made in heavenV " quoth Constance, her 
blue eyes wide with mimic wonder. " I 
lay no claim to heavenly wisdom, but the 
first time I saw Rebecca and Mr. Morti- 
mer together, I said, ' It's sure to light a 
match.' '^ 

" I should be unwilling to believe all 
matches were ; but I have known, and do 
know, many natures that seem literally 
' born for each other, ' as is said in com- 
mon parlance. ' Sparks sprung from mys- 
teries, which may well be called Elysian,' 
are these irresistible attractions drawing 
])redestined souls together. If 5^ou feel 
inclined to hold up j'our hands in holy ^ 
horror — of sentimentalism, so called — you 
must name another to preside over this 
' Court of Love.' " 

''Do I understand you," asked Theo- 
dora, "that these predestined natures rre 
tivin-born in taste and humor, cast in the 
same mould of mind and heart?" 

"Xot by any means," replied the Ora- 
cle. " Experience and observation would 
contradict the hypothesis. They must 
be counterparts in mind, and tempera- 



ment and organization, to make the union 
complete, the entirety of being— the per- 
fect oneness." 

" Yet, the master chords and ruling 
sympathies must be in accord, surely, to 
give forth music," responded Theodora. 

"Yes," was the oracular reply, " they 
must be in sympathy and harmony, ea 
rapport^ and yet counterparts to act and 
re-act upon each other." 

" Life would be very tame and insipid," 
said Mr. Montague—" flat, stale, weary 
and unprofitable, if spent with one who 
reflected our every thought. Ideas need 
counterparts in conversation, as much as 
temperaments in existence. This is the 
axiom of my favorite novel, which I have 
embalmed in my mind as an epigram." 

" The name ! The name of i he novel !" 
exclaimed Theodora, " we must have the 
name !" 

" Counterparts ! by Miss Sheppard," he 
answered. "If you have not read it, I 
shall be glad to be the bearer of such a 
pleasure to you. It fell in with a favorite 
train of thought when I read it, which, 
added to its own intrinsic merit, has 
made it a royal favorite in my collection 
of book-friendships. In it, ' the chapter 
and verse is temperament for every ser- 
mon,' and it treats subtly and with, finesse 
of Doubles, Analogues, and Sympathies 
and Counterparts. You will find it a 
charming companion for ' interludes of 
leisure.' " 

" I shall be only too happy to make its 



96 



acquaintance, and form a friendship with 
it, and I presume the others will also. 
Fields said, in one of his charming Boston 
lectures, ' It is never too late to form the 
friendship of a really good novel,' or 
something very like. I quote memoriter, 
as it was photographed on my brain." 

" I claim, from much thought upon the 
subject of counterparts," returned Mr. 
Montague, "to have become quite a 
Diviner. Like Miss Constance, I was 
impressed at once with the belief that 
Miss Rebecca was to 'illustrate the history' 
of Mr. Mortimer, and should have been 
greatly surprised had not ' events so 
twisted themselves.' " 

"Have you sounded the depths of 
their natures alone?" asked Alice, "or 
have you used the ' divining-rod ' for us, 
tooV" 

"I am not coming to the Confessional 
so publicly, Miss Alice," he replied. 
"Meet me by moonlight alone, and per- 
haps I can ' tell you a tale.' " 

"And will you use your Witch-Hazel 
for me, too, when the moon beams pro- 
pitiously V" asked Constance. 

" Only too willingly! Meet me in some 
convenient Arcadia, Vale of Tempe, or 
Haunted Bower, and 1 will as gallantly 
swing the divining-rod in your service, as 
ever good Knight his sword." 

"It is quite an unusual confession for a 
Benedict to make," cried Theodora, "that 
Love has been ' the ocean to the river of 
his thought.' Your words are a revela- 



tion, and transform you at once into a 
hero of romance." 

"To disclaim it," Miss Theodora, 
"would be to disclose insincerity, for I 
believe hearts masculine and feminine, in 
their inmost consciousness, look upon love 
as the true exponent of life." 

"Yes," said Mr. Carlton, " now that 
we are baring our hearts, opening the 
windows and allowing the light to stream 
in, to be true we must acknowledge the 
deep consciousness we all have, of a wealth 
of feeling and sympathy undeveloped, 
latent, whose fervor has never been called 
out, waiting like Undine for the love that 
shall awaken a soul. It seems to me it 
must be almost like the bestowal of a new 
sense, to have them awakened and called 
into action." 

"Like Mr, Montgomery," said Mr. 
Mortimer, "I am proud to acknowledge 
my belief in the Omnipotence of Love, 
and trust to have my heart as perfectly 
ruled and swayed by it as is the Uni- 
verse." 

"It is as Mr. Carlton supposes," said 
the Oracle, "the magic 'open-sesame ' 
to a new world of thought, and feeling, 
and enjoyment. Would that it could be 
treated sacredly and reverently as is meet 
for the holiest of earthly themes, second 
only to that of the Infinite Love, the 
Source of all jo}' and beauty. Any true 
man or woman should glory in saying 
truly, ' I love,' instead of hiding it under 
miserable subterfuges, evasions and de- 



97 



ceits, and oftentimes downright false- 
hoods, as is the custom of man}^ They 
act as if the purest, noblest, holiest feel- 
ings of our nature were emotions to be 
ashamed of." 

"I think," said Cousin Kate, the cus- 
tom of announcing engagements coming 
into vogue is a step in the right direction. 
A betrothal forestalls and prevents the 
mysterious whisperings, secrecies, denials 
and subterfuges that were en regie years 
ago." 

'• There is lack of sound, good, true 
education upon the holy theme. It is 
avoided by educators as savoring of sickly 
sentimentalit}', strangely forgetting that 
upon it hangs the destiny of this world 
and the next. One would think they be- 
lieved la helle passion had no part in any 
world save that of Fiction, instead of its 
being the ruling spirit and inspiration, 
guide and guardian of Life, " said Auntie, 
the needle of whose thoughts turns ever 
to the North Star of Truth. '^ True to 
the kindred points of Heaven and Home." 

"Is it false education, or unfavoring 
circumstance that makes so many fail to 
find their Star of Destiny ?" asked Mr. 
Graham. 

'' Each plays its part, I presume," said 
Cousin Kate, "but I know well that the 
happiness of many lives has been wrecked 
through following the false lights of edu- 
cation. False on both sides. The wooer 
delaying for 'assurance doubly sure,' 
which none would be more quick to call 



unmaidenly than he who craves it. The 
wooed taught that, however sweet the 
voice that wooes, she must 'stifle the 
mighty hunger of the heart,' until the 
magic words are spoken. Not that I 
know that this could be otherwise, and 
yet I feel its influence is wrong. The 
ideas planted in childhood, and nurtured 
by those placed as guides of our youth, 
fetter and influence us in after years, even 
though every instinct rebels against them, 
and a riper judgment rejects them. Yet, 
disbelieve them as we may, they have 
power to influence still, and tell upon our 
actions. AVoman from earliest years is 
taught to keep fast the prison-doors of 
her heart, nor ever unbar them, however 
dear the voice that calls. The very lulla- 
bies that are sung to her, breathe of wo- 
man's pride, and woman's coldness, and 
reserve, and as she grows the seeds thus 
planted, are watered" by every hand. At 
home, at school, in social circles, in books, 
everywhere, but in her own heart, is she 
taught that it is unmaidenly, unwomanly, 
by word or sign, lo tell a heart that loves 
her, it is loved by her. They who are 
deemed especially worldly-wise and fitted 
to guide, tell her if she loves, to hide the 
love, nor ever let the loved one know the 
feeling given. That even one betrothed, 
nay more, a wife, should keep from him, 
the chosen of her heart, the knowledge of i ts 
depth. Her heart may spurn the thought, 
and swell indignantly each time it rises, 
and yet its power remains, and keeps its 



98 



potency. It is easy to say, Love needs 
not words to be understood, and yet I 
know that where it exists deeply, truly, 
it is better spoken." 

"Thanks, Mrs. Montgomery, " said Mr. 
Mortimer, "for your good words and true. 
If only now, you could hold forth a bea- 
con to show us when love exists." 

"That can no one, I fear," replied 
Cousin Kate. " Every heart knoweth its 
own joy and sorrow, and a ' stranger can- 
not intermeddle therewith.' Longfellow 
with the divining-rod of a poet, saith in his 
beautiful prose idj^l, ' Kavanagh :' — ' It is 
difficult to know at what moment love 
begins. It is less difficult to know that it 
has begun. A thousand heralds proclaim 
it to the listening air ; a thousand minis- 
ters and messengers betray it to the eye. 
Tone, act, attitude, and look ; the signals 
upon the countenance ; the electric tele- 
graph of touch, — all these betray the 
yielding citadel, before the word itself is 
uttered, wliich like the key surrendered, 
opens every avenue and gate of entrance, 
and makes retreat impossible.' This, to 
me, though beautiful in itself, is indefi- 
nite and indistinct, and I gather a truer 
test irom his exquisite pictures of the 
lover's joy: — 'How bright the world 
became to him at that thought ! It was 
like one of those paintings in which 
all the light streams from the face of the 
Virgin.' When that hour comes, there 
is small need of further revelation of the 
presence of love — love the Divine." 



" Rebecca and her sable knight sit mute 
as a sphinx," exclaimed Alice; "while 
from the prodigality of their joy, I ex- 
pected them to pour forth the full inner 
glory of the new commandment given 
unto them, ' to love one another.' " 

"Silence is often more eloquent than 
words — ' speech is silvern, silence gold- 
ern!' " returned Mr. Mortimer, in the cul- 
tured tone and accent, that makes every 
word fall like " music at eventide" upon 
the ear. " I told you we were but learners 
in the school, and gladly sat at the feet of 
those who so long since entered the ' holy 
alliance. ' As this is an impromptu, family- 
insti , uted confessional, a genuine outpour- 
ing of confidences, and as you are deter- 
mined to draw some expression from me, 
I will confess that I wooed the gentle 
goddess of slumber last night, by repeat- 
ing, untired, over and over again : 

' And aye, on Meditation's heavenward wing, 
Soaring aloft, I breathe tlie- empyreal air 
Of Love, omnifiCj omnipresent Love, 
Whose day-spring rises glorious in my soul, 
As the great sun, when he his influence 
Sheds on the fast-bound waters. 

The glad stream 
Flows to the ray, and warbles as it flows.' " 

"Will his sentiments bear the touch- 
stone, Cousin Harry V" asked Theodora. 

"The ring is silvery clear, and rejoic- 
ingly true," he replied, "proclaiming what 
a proud thing it is for him to wear Love's 
golden chain, with which it is best free- 
dom to be bound. I should not fear to 



99 



subject it to any test, or touchstone you 
mi<]^ht suggest." 

''Oh! Cousin Harry," cried Alice, 
''you averred you could not 'choose 
among goddesses,' that we four daugh- 
ters of your heart and home were in ithe 
same degree of khiship and propinquity, 
and that the sun of your love shone alike 
on each, and now you see Rebecca bless- 
ed above all blessing, and forget the three 
disconsolates left out in the cold." 

"I neither promised to 'get you to a 
nunnery' or a husband. Truly I can say 
though receiving your words in soberer 
mood than they were uttered, because my 
heart is full — I can truly take the words 
of Coventry Patmore, in ' The Betrothal, ' 
on my lips : 

' God so seldom lets us take 
The road we think the best, when it lies 
In steps that either mar or make 
Or alter others' destinies, 
That though my blessing and my prayer 
Had helped, should help, the suit, yet I 
Left all to them, my passive share, 
Consent and opportunity.' " 

"My Manifest Destiny again thrust 
aside," exclaimed Constance, "and the 
ruthless hands aro those of my own house- 
hold. ' Consent and opportunity' are not 
sufficiently 'shining marks' for the boy 
archer. I will 'Hang my harp on the 
Willows,' and off to Kamschatka immedi- 
ately. Know'st thou if I can find any con- 
venient monument there, to sit and smile 
at grief upon ? Ah well I I have the pro- 



mise of the magical offices of the Hazel 
Wand in the hand of the Diviner. That 
surely will discover my affinity. Only an 
incredulous smile greets me, but my per- 
pendicular opinion is, that such faithless 
people are not worth minding. Hope hops 
about with a ' chick-a-dee-de,' and indeed 
I do little else but hop to the music of my 
own heart. Woe's mo ! How much I am 
talking about myself! If ever I had a fail- 
ing, it was modesty, but when I see a 
sober, lachrymosal spirit creeping over 
you, I am constrained to don the cap and 
bells, and descant upon my claims to 
beauty, for your delectation." 

"Oh I Miss Rattle-pate, we shall yet 
see you 'stricken to the heart with a 
sparide of fine love,' and that unruly 
member tamed," said Auntie. 

"Dear Auntie," she returned, "you 
' drop manna in the way of starved people. ' 
You could not listen to the spirit of Jere- 
miah breathed through my Lamentations 
without coming with mollifying ointment. 
To show you that I occasionally have a 
thought flitting through the cobwebs of 
my brain, let me pick up the thread of 
coideur de rose discourse I interrupted with 
my 'Mowcher like' volatility. What do 
you suppose two persons indissolubly 
bound together, find to talk about through 
a whole life-time. They surely must get 
talked out, and, therefore is the bond 
the one remedy I can discover for the 
tongue-y-ness Auntie deplores. For a 
time I can imasine it would be well for 



100 



the Eliphalet or Eleazar, I should take 
unto myself for a husband, to get his au- 
ricular appcudages well insured, but my 
resources would be exhausted long before 
the Silver Wedding Day. I was led to this 
reflection (don't, look aghast, my philo- 
sophic spasms are short) by Lady Ashbur- 
ton's saying, ' I wonder what news Adam 
used to bring Eve of an afternoon.' Se- 
riously, I often look at comfortable matri- 
monials trundling along through life in 
each other's company, and wonder, while 
' still the wonder grows,' what they can 
possibly find to talk about." 

"That is the last Lion I should have 
expected to appear in your way. But it 
is the channel," said Auntie, "into which 
my thought was drifting, when I spoke of 
life becoming vapid, and tasteless, with- 
out friction of minds, one acting upon 
another, as flint on steel." 

"It certainly is not in the thought of 
some men," rejoined Alice, "if we may 
judge by their choice. They seem to have 
selected wives for the qualities you would 
look for in a good servant, without any 
reference to companionship." 

"Some, a step more elevated in their 
Ideal, of a Wife," said Theodora, "select 
her as they would an ornament, without 
reference to usefulness, or even wear." 

" Some as a sort of plaything," said our 
Oracle, " or to throw the beautifully be- 
coming mantle of charity over them, simply 
to love. Now Love, is the best of God's 
gifts, but it must have whereon to feed. 



As one cannot live upon Love without 
bread and butter, neither can it live and 
grow and endure it seemeth tome, without 
the added graces and gifts the gods ad- 
mire. I have small compassion for the 
bitterness of the awakening, where one 
has entered so unreflectingly into the 
Holy Bond. ' Experience keeps a dear 
school, but fools will learn in no other. ' 
There is a ' beauty which is beyond the 
reach of time,' as the Duchess of New- 
castle said of her Mother's Beauty of 
heart, and soul, and mind, not incompati- 
ble with beauty of form, and feature, and 
better far than treasures of gold and 
silver, is a ' thought-thrifty, thought-stor- 
ing, thought-wealthy' existence." 

"Southey's incomparable Doctor, 
saith," responded Mr. Montague. " ' Some 
lly into love, some flutter into it, and 
some dance into it, and some are led into 
it.' Avery ^witches brewing,' many 
make of life. 'Mingle, mingle, you that 
may !' In the old court of love in Prov- 
ence, they had many infallible tests 
by which they tried the cases brought 
before them. One was, * each action of 
the lover ends in the thought of her he 
loves.' Another, 'Love can refuse 
nothing to love.' 'Each one who loves 
grows pale at the sight of her whom he 
loves.' Chaucer explained in his verses, 
the craft of love, — the ' Ten Command- 
ments and the twenty statutes of love.' 
The testimony of Sidney, ' the mirror of 
courtesy ' would have been considered a 



101 



genuine jewel of the court. However far 
Sidney goes, whatever he touches, he sees 
throughout the universe, only the name 
and features of Stella." 

"The myth says," answered Theo- 
dora, "that 'love brought chaos into 
order, and created the world.' It has 
lost none of its power. The shipwrecks 
of wedded life are from its absence as 
ruling imssion, I believe. George Eliot, 
in her Middlemarch says, 'marriage is 
the beginning of the home epic, the 
gradual conquest, or irremediable losb of 
that complete union, which makes the 
advancing j^ears a climax, and age the 
harvest of sweet memories in common. 
Some set out like crusaders of old, with a 
glorious equipment of hope and enthu- 
siasm, and get broken by the way, want- 
ing patience with each other and the 
world.' Thealternativesdepending wholly 
on the presence or absence of the great 
harmonizer, love. The marriage-praj^er 
of Tobit is beautiful. ' Mercifully grant 
that we may grow aged together,' pre- 
supposing love and harmony of course. 
How beautiful the union, when like Jean 
Paul, the wedded ones can say, ' after 
long years of married life, no flower has 



faded from our wreath of love and happi- 
ness. ' Herder wrote of his wife in old age 
to Jacobi : ' She is the tree, the consolation 
and the happiness of my life. Even in 
quickly flying transient thoughts we are 
one.' From j-outh to age they lived in 
the most beautiful harmony of life and 
pursuit, he writing beside her. and she 
assisting him by copying his rough 
sketches and first thoughts. These are 
genuine instances of love. Many feelings 
;u'e dignified by its name, which are only 
fancies, passing fancies, as some one says, 
' Many think they are in love, when in 
fact they are only idle. ' Love, genuine 
'love, makes all things beautiful, and 
leaves no wilderness without its pleasure 
tent.' " 

At the betrothal supper which followed, 
our healths and troth-plight were pledged 
in the sparkling cheer, and blessings in- 
voked upon the "holy alliance," with 
" wine, wassail and song. " Afterward we 
danced in its honor until " tired eyelids 
drooped heavily upon tired eyes," and 
liand pressed hand in kind good-night. 
" A good-night in which the hands met, 
and the spirit kissed." 



102 



CHAPTER X. 



January 11th. According to a tryst 
made last evening, the Knights of the 
Glen came to our " nest of nightingales" 
to organize a ''Book Club" lor the win- 
ter's delectation. We drew a constitution 
in due form, made by-laws, and arranged 
that the books should be passed from 
hand to hand, in the order of the ten 
names upon the list. By each putting a 
stated sum into the common fund, enough 
was gathered to supply us with the new, 
popular reading of the day. Of the stand- 
ard works, we have goodly store. The 
chief ornaments and valuables of the house 
being books and pictures, with which the 
walls are absolutely lined, a la Sydney 
Smith, who said : " On going to a new 
home, I eviscerate the house, make it 
commodious, and every wall to glisten 
with books. " We appointed reading cir- 
cles for each Tuesday and Thursday even- 
ing, until the Lenten Season should come 
on. Formed ourselves into a sort of 
literary club, a " Guild of Literature and 
Art," for Saturday evenings, in which 
each was pledged to contribute some mite 
to the enjoyment of the evening. Music, 
song, poem, story, essay, sketch, drawing, 
bit of color, recitation, or whatever ' ' the 
spirit moved." 



'' Excuses forgetting together," Cousin 
Harry slyly suggested, while Auntie as 
slyly commented : 

''Young people needed no excuses to 
come together when I was young, but 
times are changed. Lads and lassies in 
my day were expected to attract each 
other irresistibly as the magnet the nee- 
dle. Times are changed indeed I" 

"Are not the excuses acceptable?" 
asked Mr. Mortimor. 

'"Delightfully so. I think we shall en- 
joy the ^noctes^ quite as much as you. 
It is good for the old to mingle with the 
young. We gain something of their fresh- 
ness and life, by going out into their 
young lives, and they perhaps something 
from living ours over again. The attri- 
tion gives out 'touches of sweet har- 
mony. ' " 

" I was reared with great reverence for 
the aged," said Mr. Mortimer. " Rocked 
upon the knees of aged grandparents, I 
was early taught to ' stand up before the 
hoary head.' I shut my eyes, and the 
memory of the ripe beauty of their dear 
faces comes over me like a vision from 
another world, and I exclaim with the 
Preacher, ' As the clear light is upon the 
holy candlestick, so is the beauty of the 



loa 



face in ripe age. ' I pity those who have 
not learned how ' beautiful time with 
goodness can make an old man look,' as I 
remember how their ' old age gathered 
reverence as the oak gathers moss. ' As 
a child I was taught to lisp the prayer — 
' May the Great Spirit bear up the weight 
of their gray hairs, and blunt the arrow 
that brings them rest,' audit was answer- 
ed by Hhe very gentlest loosing of the 
cord, after the almond tree had long blos- 
somed.' " 

"I saw somewhere the other day," 
said Theodora, "that it seemed 'almost 
an impertinence to live after sixty on this 
side the Atlantic. ' Does it not make one 
fain to join in the loud-mouthed lamenta- 
tion over the degeneracy of the times we 
have fallen upon, in comparison with the 
days when the Nestors were listened to 
next to the gods." 

"Among my choicest treasures," said 
Mr. Mortimer, "is a picture painted by 
one of the first artists of the day and 
country, of my grandfather, in the Indian 
summer of his life, sitting beneath the 
purple clusters of the vine — the Home- 
stead in the background — in the fore- 
ground a huge old apple tree, heavy with 
the burden of its ripe, mellow fruitage. 
The design was my own — the sketch 
taken from the home lawn, and the face 
copied from a portrait worked up and 
executed by a skillful hand, almost as if 
under inspiration. The surroundings 
were suggested to me by two charming 



little sketches that came to me, in one 
of Miss Kebecca's sortes hihlloca ways, 
at a time when my heart was heavy with 
sorrow for the last of my race, who ' like 
a shock of corn fully ripe,' had been gath- 
ered, with his hoary hair like a crown of 
glory,' brushed softly, tenderly, from his 
face by my own hand for the last, last 
time. Shall I repeat them to you ?" 

I would, dear Familiar, you could have 
heard the exquisite modulations of his 
cultured voice, as tremulous with feeling, 
they fell on the ear in tones sweeter and 
more musical than any I ever caught, as 
he recited: 

" In lands where the vine grows, I have 
seen an old man sit all day long, a sunny 
autumn day, before his cottage door, in a 
great arm chair, his old dog couched at 
his feet in the genial sun. The autumn 
wind played with the old man's venerable 
hairs : aloove him on the wall, purpling 
in the sunlight, hung the full clusters of 
the grape, ripening and maturing j^et 
more. The two were just alike, the wind 
stirred the vine leaves, and they fell : 
stirred the old man's hair, and it whiten- 
ed yet more. Both were waiting for the 
spirit in them to be fully ripe." 

The other : 

"Apples are growing on every tree — 
all summer long they grew, and in early 
autumn. At length the fruit is fully 
formed, the leaves begin to fall, letting 
the sun approach more near. The apple 
hangs there yet, not to grow but to ripen. 



104 



It softens, sweetens ; in one word, it 
mellows. Some niglit the vital forces of 
the tree get drowsy, and the autumn, with 
gentle breath, just shakes the bough, the 
expectant fruit le' s go its hold, full grown, 
full ripe, full colored, too. Birtli is hu- 
man blossom ; youth, manhood, they are 
our summer growth ; old age is ripeness. 
The hands let go the mortal bough : that 
is natural death. It is a dear, good God 
who orders all for the apple tree and for 
mankind." 

There was a reverent hush when he 
ceased, as if all were subdued by the ten- 
derness of the picture, and were calling 
up the details of the lovely conception. 
Mr. Mortimer took advantage of the time 
to slip into my hand manuscript copies of 
the two sketches, having taken them 
quietly from his note-book. The little 
insentient leaflets seemed to whisper 
tenderly, *'Thus will he share with you 
all life's treasures," and I tucked them 
away shyly, lest their rustling whispers 
should fall on the common air. 

"I have also framed," he continued, 
"the last piece of work upon which the 
aged grandmother sewed— the needle 
woven in and out for resting:. They seem 
to hallow the Homestead Wall, and drop 
benedictions, as is fabled of the pictures 
and relics of patron saints. The Home- 
stead I thou'^^ht was forever ' written 
within and without ' with Desolation, l3ut 
the shadows have all changed into Bene- 
dictions, and it stands out in unclouded 



sunshine. A bright presence, indissolubly 
linked with it now, has so irradiated it, it 
seems the world must be brighter for the 
light streaming from its windows and 
casements. I love to think its light will 
fall on silver locks again, intermingled 
with the Brown," ho said with his rare 
smile, made up of all knightly courtesies, 
dwelling on dear Auntie, who replied : 

" I have come to think, indeed have 
adopted it as one of my beliefs, that no 
household is perfect without the presence 
of an old person and an adopted child, and 
enchant myself with the thought, as I go in 
and out the houses of my dear ones, that in- 
stead of being useless and de trop, I com- 
plete the whole, round the circle. It is a 
pleasant thing to delectate oneself in this 
way. Madame Swetchine, whose last days 
were ' the crown, the illustration, the con- 
summation of her life,' said, ' Old age is 
not the lovely age, but be sure, my dear, 
it is a lovely age.' It is so very sweet to me 
to mingle with the young. I appreciate 
the reciprocation of the feeling, very warm- 
ly, and have made it a rule to try and 
adapt myself to them, and the change in 
age, and mind and manners, so as not to 
be a 'rock of offense,' and 'stone of stum- 
bling" often calling to mind Madame de 
Genlis's words: ' I cannot bear to hear 
elderly people say, "I am too old to mend, " 
I would rather forgive young ones if they 
said, " I am too young I" Because, when 
one is no longer young, one must especial- 
ly labor to perfect oneself, and to replace- 



105 



by good qualities what one loses in the 
agreeable. Mr. Mortimer has kindly given 
113 the model in word-painting, from which 
his picture grew, as the marble statue 
grows from the clay model. Shall I give 
you a similar bit of word-painting, which 
I have for years kept before me, 'to grow 
by,' as the children say?" 

Of course we were only too glad to learn 
anything of the steps by which she had 
been climbing through the years towards 
perfection. We are so apt to forget that 
saints are being made all the time. That 
the Church all through the ages is making 
them, even in our day. " Like great 
mountain peaks they stand out, and catch 
the sunlight of God's love, and reflect it 
from peak to peak, and down upon us, 
the pebbles lying at the foot." Oh I it is 
good to read from the boarded volumes of 
the Acta Sanctorum^ but, better still, to 
read living pages from the saints now 
forming, and very attentively we listened 
while she read : 

" Miss Kindly is aunt to everybody, 
and has been so long that none remember 
to the contrary. The little children love 
her ; she helped their grandmothers to 
bridal ornaments, threescore years ago. 
Nay, this boy's grandfather found the way 
to college lay through her pocket. Genera- 
tions not her own rise up and call her 
blessed. To this man's father her patient 
toil gave the first start in life. That great 
fortune— when it was a seed, she carried 
it in her hand. That wide river of repu- 



tation ran out of the cup her bounty filled. 
Now she is old, very old. The little child- 
ren, who cling about her with open mouth, 
great round eyes, wonder that anybody 
should ever be so old ; or that Aunt Kind- 
ly ever had a mother to kiss her mouth. 
To them she is coeval with the sun, and, 
like that, an institution of the country. 
At Christmas they think she is the wife of 
Saint Nicholas himself, such an advent is 
there of blessings from her hand. She has 
helped lay a Messiah in many a poor 
man's crib. 

"For more than sixty years she has 
been a special providence to the family. 
How she used to go forth— the very charity 
of God— to soothe, and heal, and bless I 
How industrious are her hands I How 
thoughtful and witty that fertile mind I 
Her heart has gathered power to love 
in all the eighty-six years of her toilsome 
life. When the birth-angel came to a 
related house, she was there to be the 
mother's mother ; aye, mother also to the 
new born baby's soul. And when the 
wings of death flapped in the street, and 
shook a neighbor's door, she smoothed 
down the pillow for the fainting head, 
she soothed and cheered the spirit of the 
waiting man, opening the curtains of 
heaven that he might look through and 
see the welcoming face of the dear In- 
finite Mother ; nay, she put the wings of 
her own strong, experienced piety under 
him, and sought to bear him up." 

"This is all I intended reading," she 



lOG 



said pausinsr, "but the temptation is 
strong to give you a little episode in Miss 
Kindly 's life, to root her more Urmly as a 
living memory in your hearts. " All asked 
eagerly for the Icailet, and she continued 
tenderly : " It is now near noon. (She is 
alone. She has been thoughtful all day, 
talking inwardly to herself. The family 
notice it, and say nothing. In her cham- 
ber, from a private drawer, she takes a 
little casket ; and from thence a book, 
gilt-edged and clasped but the cla^ip is 
•worn, the gilding is old, the binding 
faded by long use , her hands tremble as 
she opens it. First she reads her own 
name, on the fly leaf, only her Christian 
name, 'Agnes,' and the date. Sixty- 
eight years ago this day, it was written 
there, in a clear, youthful, clerkly hand — 
with a little tremble in it, as if the heart 
beat over-quick. It is very well worn, the 
dear old IJible. It opens of its own ac- 
cord, at the fourteenth chapter of St. 
John. There is a little folded piece of 
paper there ; it touches the first verse and 
the twenty-seventh. She sees neither; 
she reads both out of her soul :— ' Let not 
your heart be troubled : ye believe in 
God, believe also in me.' ' Peace I leave 
with you, My peace give I unto you, not 
as the world giveth, give I unto you.' 
She opens the paper. There is a little 
brown dust in it ; perhaps the remnant of 
a flower. She takes the precious relic in 
her hand, made cold by emotion. She 
drops a tear on it, and the dust is trans- 



I figured before her eyes ; it is a red rose of 
the spring, not quite half blown, dewy 
fresh. She is old no longer. It is not 
Aunt Kindly, now ; it is sweet Agnes, 
as the maiden of eighteen was eight and 
sixty years ago, one day in May, when 
all nature was woosome and winning, 
and every flower-bell rung in the mar- 
riage of the year. Her lover had just put 
that red rose of the spring into her hand, 
and the good God another in her cheek, 
not quite half-blown, dewy fresh. The 
young man's arm is round her ; her brown 
curls fall on Lis shoulder ; she feels his 
breath on her face, his cheek on hers ; 
their lips join, and like two morning dew- 
drops in that rose, their two loves rush 
into one. But the youth must wander to 
a far land. They will think of each other 
as they look at the north star. She bids 
him take the Bible. He saw the north 
star hang over the turrets of many a 
foreign town. His soul went to God — 
there is as straight a road from India as 
from any other spot— and his Bible came 
back to her — the Hivine love in it with- 
out the human lover, the leaf turned 
down at the blessed words of St. John, 
first and twenty-seventh of th(i fourteenth 
chapter. She put the rose there to note 
the spot ; what marks the thought holds 
now the symbol of their youthful love. 
To-day, her soul is with him, her maiden 
soul with his angel soul , and one day the 
two, like two dew-drops, will rush into 
one immortal wedlock, and the old age of 



10^ 



ca,rth sba]i become eternal joutb. in the 
Kingdom of Heaven." 

After the beaut}^ of the little Idyl was 
acknowledged, cousin Harry who had 
been looking for a book in "the Library 
said, " I must as a climacteric read Long- 
fellow's exquisite tribute to Age : ' The 
eye of Ag3 looks meekly into my heart ! 
The voice of Age echoes mournfully 
through it I The hoary head and palsied 
hand of age, plead irresistibly for its sym- 
pathies I I venerate old age I And I 
love not the man who can look without 
emotion upon the sunset of life, when the 
dusk of evening begins to gather over the 
watery eye, and the shadows of twilight 
grow broader and deeper upon the under- 
standing.' " 

fc5oon the guests rose to make their 
adieus when Cousin Kate asked, "Can 
we not sing before parting to the tune of 
Queen Mary's escape, 'All ripe for 
Heaven, the good old Patriarch lay ?' " 

"And," exclaimed Auntie, "'Only 
waiting 'till the shadows are a little 
longer grown !' It will be a fitting close, 
in accord with, and making the evening 
a 'harmonious whole,' " adding, "If I 
have given too sombre hues to the Good- 
Night, forgive. I should not have made 
myself the central figure, remembering 
the beauty of Age arises from a ' heart at 
leisure from itself.' " 

January 12th. Never did a more beau- 
tiful Sunday dawn upon our lost Eden. 
A real Izaak Walton Sunday, clear, crisp 



and bright. The services at the little 
Church were very beautiful. Ileal wor- 
ship. The text, " When He pulteth forth 
His own sheep. He goeth before them." 
St. John X. 4. The sermon one that could 
not help bettering the listeners, showing 
that " not a grief afilicts or pains us, that 
does not first rush its dark waves against 
His loving heart, to spend their violence 
upon it." A manuscript sermon sent by 
some one to Cousin Harry to read. In 
the afternoon another sweet service, and 
Mellville's beautiful sermon upon " Heav- 
en." My spirit leaped up exultingly, 
stirred as by a trumpet, by its wondrous 
eloquence, and echoed the Ileim-weh, of 
the sudden, passionate cry in the Ilvmn, 
"Jerusalem my Happy Home, O^God 
that I were there." Tne Good Knights 
came to Sunday evening supper, as Cousin 
Kate has given them a standing invitation 
to do throughout the season, in her grace- 
ful, cordial manner, which always carries 
conviction of true sincerity. We scat- 
tered into little knots about the salon, 
after supper, sometimes walking softly up 
and down the long room, and sometimes 
standing and sitting. Our first Sunday 
evening together," said the Best One, 
"and following it, I see a long train of 
them coming to us as our blessed por- 
tion." A spirit of holy calm and halcyon 
enjoyment pervaded the entire atmos- 
phere, and we were supremely blessed. 

At length Cousin Kate ran her handa 
over the chords of the parlor organ, and 



108 



ranged round her we had a lovely hour 
of sacred song, on whose wings we iloated 
back to the Sunday nights of long ago. 
The music striking the electric chain by 
which we are darkly bound. After the 
Good-night kisses from the children we 
divided off into Ute a tetes until just be- 
fore dispersing the conversation became 
general, and Auntie proposed we should j 
each give a sentiment upon Sunday. 
Mark it with a beautiful thought, as with 
white stones, remembered or original, i 
giving us first Herbert's exquisite lines : 

" The Sundays of man's life, 
Threaded to,2:ether on Time's string. 
Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
Of the eternal, glorious king.'' 

Cousin Harry : *' The day on which the 
Sun of Righteousness arose with healing 
on His wings." 

Cousin Ivate : "A scallop shell of 
quiet." 
Theodora : 
" Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky." 

Mr. Montague : 

" Sunday the pillars are, 

On which heaven's palace arched lies." 

Alice : " A quiet hollow scooped oiit of 
the windy hill of the week." 

Mr. Carlton : " An Easter Day in every 
week." 

Constance: "A day on which to sing 
Alleluia." 



Mr. Graham : " Sunday is the golden 
clasp, that binds the volume of the week 
together." 

Rebecca : " Octave rainbow of Easter. " 

Mr. Mortimer : 

"Sundays observe. Think, when the bells do 

chime, • 
'Tis angel's music. 

God then deals blessings ; if a king did so 
Who would not haste, nay, give, to see the 

show." 

January 13. Constance's Birthday. 
Cold I cold I bitter cold I One needs to 
" have a solar system of one's own " to 
live here. Yerily it has seemed that 
those obliged to venture out must perish 
with the cold. Within we have worn 
our brightest smiles and festal-dresses in 
honor of the birthday of our fairy-like 
darling. Her Gift Table was heaped 
with loving offerings, and in every way 
we strove to make as much of a Festival 
of it as possible. It is inexpressibly sweet 
to have one's birthday cordially celebrat- 
ed ; it is so personal a feast, so entirely 
one's own. Its honors can be absolutely 
appropriated without selfishness or divi- 
sion of favors. To our surprise and un- 
mingled delight, the friends from the 
Glen braved the cold, and found them- 
selves heroes in our eyes, while the 
warmth of the welcome melted away 
every remembrance of the biting Frost 
King reigning supreme without. -Flowers 
bloomed everywhere in the brightly light- 
ed salon. The treasured blossoms from 



109 



the different sanctums and rooms of the 
house gathered together to grace the fes- 
tival, and a merry frolic we made of it, 
tipping the queen of the feast an obeisance 
from each plant on its appearance, with 
some salutation, as "I am Heliotrope, and 
come to bloom in your presence ;" "I am 
Japonica, and come to do you honor ;" "I 
am Cape Jessamine, and am here to make 
fragrant your birth-feast, ' ' &c. , &c. Mr. 
Graham brought a pot of his favorite 
exquisite plant, with the terrible name — 
Pyxidanthera Barbulata. "When he told 
us how he had contrived to keep it back 
from blooming and then bring it forward 
to bud and blossom just at this season, I 
seemed to read the spell that had made 
his care so potent. He had brought it as 
carefully shielded from the nipping frost 
as if it had been a flower of Paradise. 
Constance blushed "celestial rosy red," 
as she bent over the trailing bunches, 
hanging in graceful luxuriance from the 
lovely jar, and Mr. Graham said, *'I 
could not find the sunflower, dear to you, 
and was therefore fain to offer up the best 
treasures of my own heart." 

" How beautiful and kind in you !" she 
exclaimed. " You must have used magic 
to make Spring flowers bloom in January. 
I thank you. They are pleasant as the 
glad merriment of a happy heart in a dark, 
ieaden-skied November day. " 

"Hang it above the table," said Auntie, 
"where the flames will flash upon it. " Oh ! 
how beautiful it was, with the flames leap- 



ing and shining upon t\.e delicate sprays, 
like the snow and wild-flowers of an 
Alpine scene ! A bright fire upon the 
hearth is a wondrous gloom-dispeller. 
Dear, bright inspirer I cheerful, sparkling 
flame-companion I heart-brightener 1 I 
would every mantel-piece, like those of 
olden times, had its attractions of fable 
and verse, consecrating it to the household 
divinities. One rare one gleams out in 
memory, in which the Muses and Graces 
were artistically grouped, making it a 
fitting shrine for the Lares and Penates 
around which a charmed circle used to 
gather, while troops of household fairies 
came tripping forth. Often have I sat 
there, with the friendly blaze lighting 
up dear faces, and playing over the sylph- 
like carvings, the very conversation en- 
hanced by the sparkling flames that 
flashed in sympathy with the sparkling 
plays of fancy and scintillations of wit — a 
hallowed shrine at which we "paid our 
devotions to loves and friendships human 
and divine. " The cottages of the poorest 
poor might have a touch of sentiment, if 
couplets, and verses and figures, ever so 
rude, made the fireside the attractive 
rallying-place of the household. There is 
no limit to the power of a good, true 
thought ; however homely the form in 
which it may be cut into stone or wood, 
however rude its utterance, the thought 
embodied enfolds its wings in the soul, 
like an angel sent to strengthen and heal. 
If ever I write a book it will be upon the 



no 



marvelous power of little things, and the 
art of drawing strength and sweetness 
from them — honey from the rock, water 
from the dry places. I have w^andered 
far away from the birth -feast, losing my- 
self, as I always do when I sit hy a hearth- 
fire and rake out the embers of fancy and 
reminiscence. I will build no more castles 
in the fire to-night, dear Farailiar ; but I 
must tell the Black Knight of my dreams 
of storied mantels and pictured fire-places. 
Perhaps he has an Alladin's Lamp which 
he can rub, and straightway they will be 
set up in our tabernacle. If he has not, 
w^e will carve, and picture and transcribe 
them ourselves, — set up not only a mythol- 
ogy of our own, but represent it in a new 
style of frescoing, our very own. If, in 
telling out the gladness of our hearts, it 
grows to look like a child's gilded play- 
house, it will be our own castle, and our 
crotchety crotchets, however fantastic, 
cannot be disputed. In the "name of 
the Muses and Mortals," where am I 
wandering ? Like witches on broom- 
sticks, I should soon have reached the 
" Twenty-fifth empyrial region of the 
blue mantled sky," thinking of this sweet 
Dulce Domum of the Future, had I not 
suddenly remembered it was Constance's 
birth-night, and her birth-feast I was 
describing to ycu. This great love has 
made me so happy and buo3^aut, I should 
not much wonder if I should float away, 
like a morning cloud, into dreamland 
some day. Now I fold my glad wings 



demurely, and tell you I v/as full of wonder 
as I stood upon the hearth, with the bright 
light falling full on the flower-oifering, 
as to " what the wild-flowers were say- 
ing." The light fell as well on blushing 
Constance ; and, as Garrick said, "a fel- 
low-feeling makes us wondrous kind," I 
immediately began to recount the scenes 
of the day to relieve her embarrassment, 
closing, as was meet, with pleasant words 
of the pleasant maiden whose excelling 
gift it is to make all things pleasant, and 
all paths paths of pleasantness. 

Dear Auntie said, tenderly : " The bles- 
sings of many, like the sweet melody of 
spirit-harps, attend her I" 

"Get your auricular appendages well 
insured !" exclaimed Constance, "for my 
family are rising up to call me blessed, 
and my Invisible Destiny praiseth me." 

I would you could have seen the little 
queen of the feast, as with mock-humility, 
downcast eyes and folded hands, she, 
dropped us a low courtesy. Oh I she look- 
ed bonnie enough to be caught in your 
arms and devoured, with her plain fea- 
tures radiant with spirit-beauty : 

"Gentlemen, "said she, "pray don your 
glorification glasses, and try and discern 
my infinite perfections, merits which ex- 
ist more in the optics seeing than object 
seen. Take in my towering tallness — my 
authentic utterances — rotund visage — 
promontory cheeks — and my nose — par- 
donable vanity seizes me when I think of 
it — my only claim to beauty ; I wonder if 



Ill 



ancient cculpturc ever knew its prototype. 
Some of you have seen statues excavated 
from the old-world cities, covered with the 
dust of ages. Saw you ever one rcjoicini:; 
in a nose so like unto a mountain peak. 
Durins; the coming solstice there will be 
no summer on my cheeks, so deep and 
wide-spread is the shadow of my nose. 
Does it not awaken your reverence?" 

We formed a ring around her in child- 
ish fashion, and danced round and round 
her merrily. "I expected to be lifted 
upon a pedestal for you all to bow 
down to to-day," laughed she, "but 
in my wildest dreams thought not of a 
war-dance around my pale auburn tresses. 
My nose ! my elongated, truncated nose 
is ambitious, but it never aspired to this. 
Good friends ! kind friends, you sho-ycr 
honors upon me. I am overwhelmed with 
all these delicate little attentions you 
know so well how to bestow. How shall 
I acknowledge them duly? I must sing," 
and thereupon, to the tune of "Auld Lang 
Sync," she sang — 

•' 'If ever I should have a house, 
Aud that eaine house were mine, 

Tou'ro welcome to it, every one. 
For the days of auld lan^; syne.' " 

"Kamo the whereabouts and the time, 
please. Miss Constance," chimed in Mr. 
Graham, after the fashion of the man in 
the audience of a theatre, who, after 
listening to ' ' There's a good time com- 
inar," exclaimed, "name the dav, please." 

" 'Tis hidden in the Book of Pr.te," she 



replied. "When Mr. Montague touches 
the springs of destiny with his divining- 
rod, perchance I may tell. 'Till then 1 can 
only say, ' Come where I am, and I will 
promise to be there.' " 

"Meanwhile we must chaunt," return- 
ed he — 

" ' I would that I were where I would be, 
Then I would be where I am not. 

But here I am, and I must be, 
So where I would be I am not.' " 

" Icelandic metre, is it not?" was her 
demure query. "I should like in return 
to wed the music of though!; to immortal 
verse, but to-night, alas, I am but a frost- 
bitten flower, a congealed daisy, an ice- 
child. During the summer solstice I may 
be melted into sense, and then I will send 
you a Roland for an Oliver. My only 
rhymes to-night would be after this sort : 
'And not often a sunbeam, and not often 
a moon-beam, and not often a star-beam, 
and not often a stray beam from planet or 
star,' cometh to warm us, and these would 
not bind up vfcll with the gardens of de- 
light, sunny spots of greenery, pure air, 
and clear, silver fountains, and pleasant 
fruits, and warm hearts, which are insep- 
arably intertwined with the boughs of my 
umbrageous roof-tree." 

' ' I thought, Constance, you bade fare- 
well to such dreams, and were off to 
Kamschatka," slyly said Cousin Harry. 

" Paradoxical though it may seem to 
thee, O friend, yet it is nevertheless true. 
You may not expect from me, in this hv- 



Hi 



perborean weather, anything clearer than 
a. cloudy sky, or more connected than a 
dictionary. I am a capricious, contradic- 
tory and troublesome guest at this season, 
like unto a sunflower nipped by the hoar- 
frost. 'Tis true, 'tis pity, pity 'tis 'tis 
true. To-night I would rather sing, 
' Polly put the kettle on,' than steer my 
bark to Kamschatka's isle." 

"Then," returned Cousin Harry, "if 
your Eobert of Lincoln wishes for a ' nice 
little wife, licver goes out, staying at home, 
while he roams about, ' he must build his 
nest in some Siberian clime, where the 
chimney corner will be your chosen 
throne, where you will maintain the post 
of Cinderella, Cassabianca-like, for only 
there will he be sure of finding you willing 
to descant on the merits of skillet and 
gridiron, according to your own show- 
ing." 

"The gods forbid," she exclaimed. 
*' There would be no end to my catalogue 
of woes. Give me the soft spring melting 
into summer, and the summer passing into 
the mellow autumn light, and then let me 
fly until ' the winter "is over and gone. ' 
*An thou lovest me,' do not give me a 
home in the ISTorthland'. Anything but 
banishment to Siberia. Any role but that 
of those poor exiles for whom the salt, salt 
tears are in mine eye." 

" O faithless Constance," I cried, " do 
you not believe Love can warm the cold- 
est clime? make a summer even among 
Greenland's icy mountains?" 



"I know it does in song and story," 
she replied ; " sometimes I think I have 
been singled out by some Goody Blake, 
as was poor Harry Gill, and that I am the 
victim of the prayer, ' Oh I may she never 
more be warm!' so 'that live as long as live 
I may, I never will be warm again,' for 
' abed or up, by night or day, my teeth 
they chatter, chatter still. ' Oh I the sum- 
mer, the summer for me ! There must be 
summer without to make summer within. 
Give me the balmy breath of the South, if 
you have a Christian desire to awaken the 
dove-like in my disposition. My very heart 
is freezing to-night," she said, with the 
sound of tears in her voice. " I could out- 
scold Mrs. Everscold herself, because, for- 
sooth, it is so cold. Nothing could recon- 
cile me to cold weather, save, perchance, 
the perfect health that can endure the 
summer heat, or winter cold, without 
shriveling and shivering, and withering, 
Aweel I Aweel I" 

" Heap up the fires," said Cousin Har- 
ry, ringing the bell, " and exorcise the 
frost spirits, blue, black and gray, that 
are steeping her in indigo, on her birth- 
night. It is ominous, and makes the 
blood creep chilly, elfinly in my veins. I 
am sure you cannot resist this sparkling 
cheer," as the coals were heaped, and 
stirred, and crackled cheerily. 

"I am ashamed. Cousin Harry," she 
cried, " to have yielded to my unmitiga- 
ble feud with Winter to-night, when you 
are all striving to give me pleasure. I am 



113 



nervous over trifles, at this state of the 
mercury. Anxious without cause, drag- 
ging in thoughts of cold on to this warm 
hearth, willfully, just because when I cry 
for the moon, no kind friend takes it down 
from the sky and gives it to me. 

" ' TTence, loathed melancholy, 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee, 
Jest and youthful jollity. 
Quips and cranks, and wreathed smiles, 
Such as hang on Ilebe's cheek. 
And love to live on dimple sleek. 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides, 
And Laugh er holding both his sides, 
Come and trip it as you go, 
On the light, fautasiic toe.' 

I shall be all the gayer for that wee bit 
of a Jeremiad. Now, for a famously gala 
time." And we had it. The very witches 
conspired to mak^ the " fun grow furious 
fast." I cannot dwell upon it, but upon 
the strange, contradictory spirit that 
possessed Constance. Can it be that sick- 
ness is coming upon her ? Or has she 
some cause of disquiet within herself? 1 
would I might comfort her I Auntie was 
so impressed with the strangeness of her 
manner, and the evident undercurrent of 
sadness beneath her forced gaiety, that 
she came softly to my room, after the 
house was all quiet. Dear Auntie how 
entirely she lives in our lives, entering 
into all our joys and sorrows, one with 
us in everything. Truly are we blessed 
in having such a friend. I would I had 
the brush of a Eaphael to picture her to 



you, dear Familiar, as she rises before me 
in her dear proper person, as she looked 
that moment, in the black silk dress she 
always wears, neat collar and cap. The 
soft eye and smile ; Auntie's smile ; poets 
might sing it ; painters make it their 
study. She sat in the low chair at my 
side, looking into my face, with wistful 
tenderness for Constance beaming from 
every feature, as she said, "Ah 1 dearest 
child, how gladly would I cover her 3'oung 
spirit with the mantle of my own, lest the 
rough blasts of time should blow too 
strongly and overwhelm it. Child that 
she is in years. Sweet child, looking with 
eager eye into the bright future, before 
whom lies a world of unknown thoughts 
and feelings. Dear child, God shield 
her!" 

Afterward she said, "It used formerly 
to be to me a source of the keenest an- 
guish that those, whom I loved, should 
ever come to knov/ the bitterness of this 
mortal life. No sorrow of my own was 
ever so hard to bear as this reflection. 
How often have I looked upon my friends 
and wished I might take all the suffering 
ordained for them into my own person, if 
they might escape. It should be more 
welcome to me than the richest happi- 
ness. I would take it to my heart, to my 
bosom, as a priceless reasure. Even 
now, my soul yearns towards those, who 
are just embarking upon life's stormy sea 
with unutterable feelings. I would fain 
go with them on this voyage, to help and 



lU 



comfort. But God has shown me 'a 
more excellent way.' He has in His in- 
finite mercy opened in some sense to me 
His heart of love, and there are inscribed 
the names of all His loved ones. I do 
not fear for any one more, but when life 
grows dark to those dear to me, I take 
them to their Father and mine, and know 
that all will be well. I do not see how it 
can be best, that so much sin and sorrow 
should be in the world, but I believe, and 
all care and darkness flee away. What a 
privilege thus to leave all with infinite 
love. In our weakness to lean upon 
Almighty strength; in our sorrows to 
know the * Consolation of Christ.' How 
does my heart dilate with inexpressible 



fullness, when I reflect upon this great 
salvation, and the present seem lost, over- 
whelmed, in the infinite, the all-glorious 
to which we hasten." 

After we had wondered and hoped and 
feared for dear Constance, to the height 
and depth our imaginations could carry 
us, she turned in her own inimitable way, 
and taking both my hands in her dear 
loving ones, so " flower-like and so fair," 
said, ' ' now tell me all that is in that little 
heart of yours." It was good, the out- 
pouring of my love and happiness, secure 
of sympathy, and my Heaven is without a 
cloud as I write, except for the restless 
questionings for Constance, that float 
dreamily through its unclouded azure. 



115 



CHAPTER XI. 



February 13. — What a void in my Jour- 
nal. The leaves of a whole month torn out. 
Vv^here is your vow of faithful journalizing, 
one would ask, but thou knowest, dear Fa- 
miliar, how faithfully I have chronicled 
our doings and sayings, and feelings. And 
yet, if surprise dwells in your sphere, I 
imagine you opening your soft eyes 
in wonder at the blank. Let me confess. 
To-night, after the heart to heart com- 
muning, which has come to be as great a 
necessity as light and air to us, and which 
we have trysted shall alway be part of 
our daily life, the Knight of my fairy tale 
begged for the month's record. If he were 
to ask for my head, I suppose I should 
give it as freely and entirely as I have 
given my heart, for the asking. And so, 
and so, I have torn it out, and given it to 
him, albeit it was a very transcript of my 
heart of hearts. "Whole pages of confes- 
sions, and dreams, and inner life. He 
said he so longed for the story of the 
whole of my every-day. To know the 
thoughts that most occupied me. Of my 
dciily joys and sorrows, hopes and fears. 
Nothing, he said, could afford him more 
happiness than to know something of the 
progress of my thoughts and feelings. 
And when I averred I thought him asking 



a great deal, he bade me remember the 
interest he had in these same thoughts 
and feelings, and his desire to know some- 
thing of my inner life. I was more than 
rewarded, on giving them to him, by his 
calling me his " Little Poem. " " Writ by 
the Lord for me," he said, "The pos- 
sessor of a greater poem than Homer, 
amL" 

I obtained a promise that not again 
would he rifle my "game-bag of 
thoughts," lest the fear of it should fetter 
me, and I should not bring you, dear Famil- 
iar, the real "story of our lives. " " By-and- 
bye," he said, " we will head the journal, 
'Liber Familicus,' and pour out our 
hearts together, a la Beaumont and 
Fletcher." 

The day has been bright and beautiful, 
making the soul bless God for the sun- 
shine and blue sky. Our reading this 
evening was delightful, Southey's "Rod- 
erick, the Last of the Goths," being the 
volume of our choice. It is so great a 
favorite with Cousin Harry and Kate, 
they read it together, religiously, year by 
year, to "keep its memory green." It 
never seemed more beautiful than to- 
night, and the Black Knight averred he 
could say, v/ith Landor, "There is no 



110 



poem in cxistcnco which I shall read so 
often. " " One of the good things Yio will 
graft upon our roof-tree from this shelter- 
ing one will be," said he, "this yearly 
banquet of Roderick. Shall it not be so, 
Mignonne?" And I responded, "Yea, 
verily, we will make the little Zdcn ring 
with'its melody. Southey shall be one of 
the household divinities. Model husband, 
Model father, Model friend. His bust 
muGt be 'just above the parlor door.' " 

" That he shall Barbara mia (for he 
always calls me Barbara now). He has 
long been very near the ' top scale of my 
friendship ladder, ' and is still ascending. 
He has advanced around higher to-night, 
elevated as he was before. Everything 
connected with the little establishment, 
in the beautiful future, is surrounded with 
a halo of glory. " 

"We could scarcely have chosen a 
lovelier patron saint. His devotion to 
home has ever been beautiful in my eyes, " 
I replied. " The lovely poems written for 
the amusement of the family circle, re- 
veal an exquisite feature in his character. 
Many of his loveliest he acknowledges as 
having been written for them, ascribing 
the inspiration to them. Even when they 
were very small, it was his custom daily to 
make rhymes and scribble ' graceful levi- 
ties ' for their amusement." 

" It is strange, " replied the Knight of 
the Ebon Wing, " they should always 
have had special charms for me. Do you 
remember that of the little girl saying, ' I 



are 1' Southey took her on liis knee, 
fondled her, and would not let her go, 
until she had learned to repeat, 'a cov/'s 
daughter is called a calf, and a sheep's 
child, a lamb. Little children must not 
say, 'I are,' but should always say, 'I 
am.' 'True Gordian Knotter of sim- 
plicities,' was he not ?" 

"What a rich delight is reaped from 
the biography of such a man, " I returned. 
"A faithful one really shows us the man in 
a mirror, and we not only gaze and ad- 
mire, but form a lasting friendship for 
the man, and rank him hereafter not 
merely as an acquaintance, but as a 
familiar friend, ' with whom we have 
taken sweet counsel.' I have always 
loved to study Southey, and feel great 
tenderness for his clinging, dependent 
nature." 

"So do I, "he replied, "remembering 
that Landor, who knew him so intimately, 
said, ho knew 'no man so nobly and 
honorably helpless as to all transactions of 
this world, all its butcherings and bakings, 
and bankings, and feudings for himself, 
out of a library as Southey.' " 

" How beautiful, " I replied, " was ihcir 
intimate acquaintance, and dear friei:d- 
ship. Southey said of Landor, 'he is of all 
men living, the one v/ith v/hom I feci th(^ 
most entire and cordial sympathy of 
heart and mind. I should think the plea- 
sure of a week's abode with him cheaply 
purchased by a journey to Florence, 



117 



though pilgrim-like the whole were to be 
performed on foot.' " 

"Yes, aad do you remember," he re- 
joined, " Southey's writing and saying 
Landor's recent apparition had been to 
them as a dream, and one that was never 
to be indistinctly remembered?" 

" Their correspondence was most pleas- 
ant," I replied, 'Hheir families of books 
and children alternating in the confidences 
interchanged between them." 

" His industry was wonderful — and his 
accuracy and nicety no less so. Think of 
him," replied the sable knight, ^^ medi- 
tating a whole morning upon the justice 
of a particular epithet. I remember his 
saying of Thalaba, ' I am polishing, and 
polishing, and hewing it to pieces with 
surgeon severity. Yesterday I drew the 
pen across six hundred lines.' Twelve 
hundred lines in a week was the quickest 
he ever wrote." 

It is a constantly growing delight to 
discover how many tastes and sympathies 
we have in common. Such a pleasant 
dream as followed, of the home where all 
cur dreams abide was like a taste of Para- 
dise. The dear Dulce Domum appears 
so hedged about with love, that there can 
enter nothmg that can annoy, and yet I 
suppose it is impossible but that *' of- 
fenses must come." We will not antici- 
pate them, but sing as he did at the close 
of our sweet ' ' soul to soul :" 



" Let's take this -world as some wide scene, 
Throu^rli which, in frail, but buoyant boat, 
Toi^ether thou and I must float, 
Beholdins* oft, on either shore, 

Brisrht spots where we should love to stay, 
But time plies swift his flying? oar, 

And away we speed, away, away ! 

Should chilling- winds and rains come on. 

We'll raise our awning 'gainst the shower, 
Sit closer till the storm is gone, 

And smiling, wait a sunnier hour. 
And if that sunnier hour should shine, 

We'll know its biightness cannot stay, 
But happy while 'tis mine and thine, 

Complain not when it fades away. 

" So shall we reach at last that fall 

Down which life's currents all must go, 
The dark, the brilliant, destined all. 

To sink into the void below ; 
Nor even that hour shall want its charms. 

If side by side, still fond we keep, 
And calmly in each other's arms. 

Together linked go down the steep." 

Oh ! happy, happy evening ! Happy, 
happy heart ! Happy, happy love I 

Constance is the only one in our coterie 
over whom a ripple of unrest seems to 
pass. She is alternately jubilant and 
changeful as a 
ow, bewailing the 
delectably run-down state of her little 
earthly tenement, and again proclaiming 
herself a miniature Samson, equal to the 
gates of Gaza. 

February 14th, St. Yalentine's Day. 
Kever did our patron saint, St. Yalentine, 
smile more beautifully upon expectant 



pensive. Capriciously 
chameleon's skin. No 



118 



hearts than to-day, and we have honored 
him in all sorts of ways, and pledged him 
in all sorts of sparkling cheer. Naught 
saved the whole order of Knighthood 
from my Muse, but the thought that did 
at last steal into my scribbling brain, 
that I was running emptyings. To be 
sure, Constance offered me a "turnpike" 
of sufficient efficacy to start anew, but I 
thought it best to cease with the going 
down of St. Valentine's sun, else my life, 
my joy, my all the world, would have 
been overwhelmed with at least a twenty- 
second thousandth edition of the old 
sweet story — the monody, I love, I love I 

The outside world had remembered us 
generously, so that at evening our table 
was heriped with gilded and illuminated 
Valentines, selected by old-time friends 
from among the varied designs and bril- 
liant colorings that crowd the counters of 
bookstores at this season. It was quite 
like being transported into the atmos- 
phere of the gay world, to turn over the 
" airy nothings. " "We were very merry 
with the richly embossed and daintily 
perfumed sheets, as they camo in, in the 
morning, each one displaying her own 
peculiar treasures, and calling for admira- 
tion, when Auntio looked up archly and 
said, 

'^ Girls, you know little of the witching 
charms of the good Saint Valentino, 
while conning those set phrases of ^ bot- 
tled enthusiasm,' devoid of life and flavor. 
' When I w:is young, ah, woful when ! ' 



You should have seen the mantling 
cheeks, and kindling eyes, that felt his 
spells this night." 

" Oh ! tell us, tell us, what you mean !" 
exclaimed the full chorus, and the gentle 
voice went on, while soft hands sent the 
needle in and out in unison. 

" We needed then no printed word to 
waken sentiment, indeed we could have 
found no sentiment in them. Gushingly 
warm from our hearts, bubbled up words 
of love for our Valentines. Then, as 
now, on the eve of St. Valentine's Day, 
we lighted the taper in its honor, and 
addressed the hillct doux, with labored 
efforts at disguise to sacredly veil the 
source, if possible. Instead of buying 
brilliant colorings, we wrote them all with 
our ovv^n fair hands, and steeped them in 
crimson heart hues, that almost seemed 
to palpitate with feeling. They were of 
various kinds, but each sped from the 
heart, instead of being chiseled and pol- 
ished by a hired poetaster." 

" Oh I tell us what you used to say 1" 
we exclaimed. 

" Some, " she replied, "the gifted and 
the few, sent dainty bits of rhyme of their 
own spinning, but the greater number 
called up treasured couplets Paid away in 
nooks and corners of thoir brains. Not 
labored affairs like these, but showing 
every one that ' 'Tis love, 'tis love, that 
rules us all completely.' " 

" Oh I say some for us !" again chimed 
we. 



119 



Smilingly, with a blush like a girl of 
cipjhtcen, she continued : 

"They will seem homely, and old- 
fashioned enough to you, girls, but they 
told of love that full often proved ' the 
life and light of threescore years and 
ten. ' Laugh heartily as you please, while 
I tell you i have seen a heart beat as if it 
would burst its casket, and eyes grow 
dim with tears, over a hackneyed rhyme 
like this : 

' If from Glove you take the letter G, 
Then Glove is Love, and that I send to thee.' " 

Merrily we shouted as she proceeded : 
" ' Tou made me a promise a lon^ time ago, 
'Twas made but in jest, but 'twas not taken so, 
You'll be called to falHU it, you cannot evade, 
But you shall not regret that it ever was made.' 

" And again: 

'Love me if I live, 

Love me if I die ; 
What to me is life or death , 
So that thou art nigh . ' 

" Or some more modest swain indited, and 
was not misapprehended : 

' Whom but to see, is to admire, 
Ah, oh ! forgive the word, to love.' 

"Another of more ardent utterance would 

say to his fair Valentine : 

' A boat, sent forth to sail alone, 

At midnight on a moonless sea, 

A Harp, whose master chord is gone, 

A wounded Bird, that has but one 

Unbroken wing to soar upon 

Are like what I am, without thee !' 



"Again they struck a playful vein, as 

' Ton say that my Heart is a riddle to you, 
Do you take enough interst in it, 
To find out its meaning, for oh ! if you do, 
As your pi'oper reward, you shall win it.' 

"Or, 

' You'll o%vn that you're very provoking, my 

dear, 
And 'tis part of your nature to tease, 
But yet, as I can't do without you, I fear, 
I must e'en let you do as you please.' 

"oSTow and then some satiric youth sent 
words like, 

' I know you love, and most sincerely, 
But 'tis yourself, you love so dearly 1' 

"Or, 

' "Why vain yourself in yonder glass. 
All own you to be a pretty lass ! ' 

'I am misanthrope, and hate mankind, 
For my part, I wish thou wert a dog, 
That I might love thee somewhat !' 

'I'll praise the Frenchman, his remark was 

shrewd, 
How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude, 
Yet grant me a friend, in my retreat, 
To whom I may whisper. Solitude is sweet I' 

"I remember well a manly cheek grow- 
ing ' celestial rosy red, ' over a strain like 
this, 'with no offense to the Nine ': 

' Sweet, let us read our hearts together, 
By tlie pure, fragrant lamp of Love, 
'Twill steadily burn in stormy weather. 
As now, for it was filled above.' 

"And a fair face grew tremulous with 



120 



feelin<?, and sunbeams of love flash from 
soft eyes over, 

' To be belov'd is all I need, 
And whom I love, I love indeed/ 

while kisses fell on the characters traced 
by the beloved hand, recognized through 
all disguises by the eyes of Love." 

As the dear Auntie paused, we took up 
Oliver's cry of "More, more I" and drew 
closer to her side. 

" Very pleasant is it for rue to give you 
more," she said, "for with each couplet, 
there has arisen the ghost of some lad or 
lassie, ' shot through the ear with the 
love-song,' and though my hair is very 
gray, I still can sing, ' There's nothing 
half so sweet in life, as Love's young 
dream.' " 

" To pick up the thread of my discourse, 
even when they spoke not so tenderly to 
the heart, you should have seen the eager 
curiosity and merry wonderment enkin- 
dled by the mysterio^js missives. Old 
scraps of notes and letters, and even ad- 
dresses and cards were hunted up and 
exchanged by ' young men and maidens, ' 
for critical comparison of characters, and 
betraying lines. The mystic charm of 
ever so tender a sentiment evaporates in 
the printer^s ink, and robs the day of 
the llutter of 'young excitement,' with 
which it was wont to rustic. All sorts of 
sub rosa remarks, and subtle suggestions 
were made, to drav/ out in an unsuspicious 
moment, a hint or clue that should prove 



a key to unlock the glowing mystery. The 
keenness of desire to ferret out the'hiddcn 
source, and solve the delicious mystery 
proving a wcnderful whetstone for the 
sharpening of wits. Oh ! what food for 
merry chat were Yalentines in that day 1 
Quizzings and guessings went on for days 
and days, often ending in a shout of vic- 
tory from the owner of the precious se- 
cret. Sometimes there was hidden away 
in the hillet-doux a knot of ribbon, dimly 
shadowing forth some tender passage in 
the past, or sweet hope in the future. 
Sometimes a pressed flower redolent of 
scene or word, that rose at its call, as 
memories are stirred by strains of music, 
and scents of flowers. Sometimes little 
remembrances of merry contretemps that 
made the ' sheeling ring' with laughter, 
all sealed with quaint device and tender, 
instead of stationer's gum. Even yet, by 
the light of memory, I see young fingers 
quivering with emotion, as they lighted 
the taper and heated the wax, and pressed 
down the seal with the fervor of a kiss. 
One young girl, I remember, in her agita- 
tion letting fall a drop of the burning wax 
on her hand, leaving a scar to this day, 
dear as the scar of a hero. I would I 
could hold up the glass through which I 
see these fair pictures, and the trumpet 
through which I hear the silvery laughter 
ring out, as some merry quip or prank 
was played off on sighing swain, or soft- 
hearted Phillis. The Feast is said to be 
held in honor of its being the day on 



121 



which birds choose their mates. From 
no maestro's score do these winged lovers 
learn to ' bill and coo,' and to be in har- 
mony with the occasion, songs should 
gush from the heart, as ' showers from the 
clouds of summer, and tears from the eye- 
lid start. ' None sang in the good old days, 
' How shall I woo V but crowded all the 
poetry of their nature into the manner of 
the wooing. And not infrequently, girls, 
were they the 'Open sesame' to loving 
hearts, utte:'ing the genuine voice of ' la 
telle passion,' and leading to the sealing 
of a ' holy alliance.' Sometimes a grace- 
ful penciling, or pen and ink sketch, were 
their accompaniments, affording themes 
of infinite jest and humor. He who gives 
us a good laugh is a benefactor, and these 
gave us many, the echoes of which will 
ring through our lives. One of these 
Picture Yalentines often called out in re- 
turn companion pieces, or bits of song or 
jest, most toothsome and delicious. Do 
you wonder these gilded favors are as 
long-opened champagne, from which the 
spirit has effervesced, to those who have 
tasted the good wine, fresh from the heart, 
sparkling with 'beaded bubbles to the 
brim.'" 

"How shall we institute Reform?" 
cried Alice, ' ' and bring back such golden, 
halcyon days. Your every word smells 
of Arcadia." 

"I have small faith," returned Auntie, 
" that the ' Court of Love,' will be able to 
institute the olden way. The manufac- 



ture of Yalentines has become one of the 
businesses of the day, and in the march of 
progress even love-letters have come to 
be turned out by machinery. Even the 
poorest poor now buy their penny and 
half-penny cut, in place of the labored art 
with which they used to draw their P's 
and Q's, with rude pens in unaccustomed 
hands, but with ' hearts in the inkstand. ' 
There was more of the genuine wine of 
the gods in their crow-tracked scrawling 
of— 

' The Rose is red, the Violet's blue, 
The Pink is sweet, and so are you ;' 

and, — 

' My pen is poor, my ink is pale, 
My love for you will never fail,' 

than in a heaped pile of artistic Yalen- 
tines, piping hot from the publisher's 
shop, but of arctic temperature within, 
giving off no spark when rubbed on the 
flinty hearts that look on them, and im- 
agine them the speech and language of 
Love. 

" It seems a childish festival, but in the 
treasured secret drawer of many a gray- 
haired philosopher and statesman, and 
with the hoarded yellow love-letters of 
many a stately dame and white-haired 
mother will you find hidden and locked 
away, Yalentines, written by hands long 
folded in the dreamless sleep, or still lov- 
ingly smoothing the rough places beside 
them, whose whole life has been but a 
varying repetition of the old, sweet story, 



122 



told first in the dainty Valentine, and 
ever since in loving deeds, and words, 
and sacrifices. Among the poor and 
heavy-laden, who have little of poetry in 
their hard lives, you will find blurred and 
blotted Yalen tines, eloquent to them of 
youth, and love, and holiness, for — 

' There's not a heart, however rude, 

But hath some little flower, 
To brighten up its solitude, 
And scent the evening hour. 

* There's not a heart, however cast 
By grief and sorrow down, 
But hath some memory of the Past, 
To love and call its own.' " 

This little talk of Auntie's v/as an in- 
spiration to us, and we acted upon it to 
the ' ' top of our bent. ' ' You would laugh, 
dear Familiar, I know, could you see " all 
the bad rhyme we've been spinning," but 
you would not wonder at mine, remem- 
bering who was the "Loom as it were 
for my Fancy to spin on," though yeu 
might say, I was *' as much out of salt as 
Miranda's own writings, " and had been 
"guilty of horrid offences, in all kinds of 
moods, numbers, ejenders, and tenses." 

The jewel of a Knight told me lugubri- 
ously that with all his goadings, not even 
with the spur of Love, could he coax his 
Pegasus to flight, though he had been 
astride the flying steed all day. He would 
not soar. And so he was fain to offor me 
one of bis hoarded treasures of rhyme, as a 
Valentine, begging me receive it as a page i 



torn from his heart, albeit it was rhymed 
by a poetaster. And I did so receive it. 
lie bade me listen to it as from his lips, 
and I did, and still it makes music and 
melody in my heart. List, list, dear 
Familiar — 

THE SOUL'S IDEAL. 

BY SARAH ANDERTON. 

Lying still about my presence, 

Loving tokens, pledges sweet, 
Trifles, hallowed by thy touches 

In the days we used to meet. 
As a flre, dispread through metal, 

Filled they with my own soul's heat. 

Growing thus a second being, 
Warmly closing round the first, 

Scarcely known, 'til one dear treasure 
Fell from me by chance accursed, 

Then its loss upon my spirit, 
Like a hurtful, cold wind burst. 

And if life's more claims upon thee, 

Or a veering mood of thine, 
Or some fault by me committed. 

Seemed to drag thy heart from mine, 
I was conscious of an anguish 

Than the sharpest wound more fine. 

Of an anguish, pressing outward 

To a more than mental pain. 
Like a rude hand fiercely grasping, 

Shrinking nerve and bleeding vein, 
Bruising vital chords of being, 

Never to be healed again. 

And as some colossal statue, 
Planted on a marble base, 



123 



Human fiarures, moving, speaking, 
'Neath the white calm of its face, 

Thence like wind-caught leaves dispersing. 
While the statue keeps its place. 

Fixed upon my thought I found thee. 
Like its changeless form alone. 

Thou, a steadfast sky — all others, 
Transient clouds athwart it blown, 

Power within thy life to shelter. 
All the fabric of my own. 

Then I questioned Fate no further, 
Touching what thou wert to me, 

But I said, within my nature, 
'Tis the great God's will I see, 

That forever and forever. 
Thou my spirit's mate should be ! 

And if Death the first should claim me, 
And I pass to Heaven before, 

Like a v/atchful hdfsoul standing 
Eager, on its earthward shore, 



I shall wait a loved completion^ 
Pining for thee, evermore. 

And if thou should'st leave me lonely. 
As an orb's strange courses are. 

That perplex the thoughtful student, 
Governed by some unfound star. 

Such will be my spirit's motions. 
Puled by thee, unseen, afar I 

So let evident space divide us. 

Different labors intervene, 
Solemn years, like ghostly shadows. 

Pass, disconsolate between. 
Still the spirit fact remaineth, 

Though thou never more art seen ! 

I must "lay me down to sleep," know- 
ing well that all nigLt long these lines will 
go singing through my dreams, like '""a 
brook in the leafy month of June, that to 
the sleeping woods all night singeth a 
quiet tune." 



124 



CHAPTER XII. 



Eebruary 15th. Gray day of sleet I A 
disheartening day, without and within ; 
for in the morning dear Constance's tears 
"forced their way without the will," as 
we were sitting alone in her room, whither 
I had gone to try and carry sunlight, for 
verily the Gloom Fairies have stolen all 
the sunshine from her sometime sunny 
face. I begged her to tell me what was 
troubling her. For a time it seemed as 
if she would weep her very heart away, 
and then she said : 

" O Eebecca ! i t is selfish to let one tear 
fall into your cup of joy. I feel like a 
very Marplot, a 'Spoil-sport,' a Death's 
Head at a Festival. I must go, and no 
longer be ' the bundle of myrrh in your 
festival goblet.' " 

And when I asked the why and where- 
fore, she could only cry more wearily than 
ever: 

'' The very demon of unrest has taken 
possession of me," she said ; ''Hope and 
Faith, and Strength and Courage, all have 
flown. Thore is nothing but desolation 
and darkness in my heart. O Rebecca ! 
Rebecca ! why is it the winter has brought 
so much of blessing to you, and to me," 
my first disenchantment." 

And Avben I m^essed her -to tell me in 



what her sorrow had its rise, she seemed 
most unwilling to unburthen it. At length 
she asked : 

" Did you ever have a friend who seem- 
ed to you the excellency of all things, and 
did the knowleclge come by degrees, sure- 
ly, slowly, that the brightness thereof 
grew dim ? Much of nobleness and truth, 
and gentleness, and strong aifection, yet 
the beauty of the whole lessened, fear 
mingling with the trust ?" 

The very chill of death settled upon my 
heart as I listened, and I felt that not to 
me was given the power to tighten the 
harp-strings relaxed and tuneless, so that 
they would vibrate sweetly as they used, 
to any touch. I could only weep for her 
when she said : 

" The most perverse fortune follows all 
I do, and all my plans this season. Were 
I to go out, and attempt pulling a blade 
of grass, I know there would be some imp 
of mischief tugging at its root. I have 
hoped to give pleasure, and the hoped-for 
smile would be a wry face, and I saw I 
had given annoyance. I have danced 
with the backache, and piped with the 
heartache. Have stolen the feathers of 
the blue-jay, and found myself but a poor, 
pale chick-a-dee, despite my line feathers. 



125 



I have worked until my hands were blister- 
ed, striving to enjoy feasts, and have 
come out thin, strengthless, lackadaisical. 
Have regular visits from the Cerulean 
imps. Spasms of petulance when 1 really 
astonish myself with the genuine ill-feel- 
ing and crossness I can find room for in 
my heart. Have grown sadly indolent as 
to books and pen. Count more aches than 
there are bones in my body, and could 
treat you to a tide of earnest eloquence, 
enumerating my catalogue of woes, that 
would draw tears from a Gorgon. Oh !" 
said she, burying her face in my shoulder, 
*' 'tis a weary, weary heart that runs 
thus. A weary, weary heart, that has 
battled bravely and resolutely — has con- 
quered, though panting a little, now that 
the struggle is over. Pray for me, pray 
for me, for I am a sorely tried child, and 
great is my need. Pray for Peace, and 
Strength, and Faith, and Love, for I am 
determined that the feeling that has 
caused me this sufiering, shall be plucked 
' from my bosom^ though my heart be at 
the root. ' There have been hours of sore 
weakness. Every night I go to sleep re- 
peating : 

* I could lay me down in gladness, 

On my weary couch to die, 
Not a tear should tell of sadness, 
Not a drop should dim mine eye — 
1 am weary, I am weary, 

I am weary of the world ; 
I have found it sad and dreary, 
Would my little sail were turled. 



* Stronger barks may brave the ocean, 

I am eager for the shore ; 
Heartsick with its strange commotion, 
Wave on wave, and roar on roar — 
I am weary, I am weary, 

I am weary of the world ; 
I have found it sad and dreary, 

Would my little sail were furled.' " 

I could only " mingle tear for tear" 
with hers, and beg her to confide in dear 
Auntie, who would be sure to understand, 
as she always does. I felt her to be her 
best earthly resource. 

I cannot write of anything else, my 
thoughts are so full of her. I fear that 
instead of only panting a little, she is 
passing away from us. We know if God 
were to call her from us, a hope bright as 
the emerald rainbow spanning the throne 
of God, would hallow her resting-place; 
but, oh ! we love not to have our angels 
go, and call frantically upon the Good 
Father to spare her, and try to believe 
that He will, remembering His promise, 
""'As your Faith, so shall it be unto you." 

February 16th. A day of fast-falling 
snow. At evening we read Lowell's ex- 
quisite little poem, ' ' The Snow-fall," and 
AVhittier's idyl, "Snow Bound," every 
line in harmony with our surroundings. 
Some of us had " the roses washed out of 
our cheeks by the tears," and yet we tried 
to draw all the sweetness from the even- 
ing that we could, for in this Home-temple 
it is considered a " great art, while carry- 
ing on the work of life to rise above it." 



126 



The evening closed with delicious music, 
and in the entre nous a " great wave of 
love and thankfulness broke over my 
heart." 

February 17th. We went together to 
Auntie — Constance and I — and as usual, 
she was sufficient for us. She always 
satisfies, never fails you — never jars, fehe 
had divined all, and to help and comfort 
turned a leaf in her heart's history, I 
am fain to think she has never turned for 
others. It gave her pain I think. Tore 
open a wound anew, but she would shed 
her heart's blood, drop by drop I believe 
to cool the thirst of another, and espe- 
cially for us, whom she regards as part of 
herself. Oh I how sadly sweet was her 
smile of greeting. Hawthorne said : "If 
I value myself on any thing, it is on hav- 
ing a smile that children love." Auntie's 
is one that everybody loves, only those 
that know her best, love it most. 

"To help you darling," she said, "I 
will unfold a leaf in the history of my 
life. Long years ago I suffered a disap- 
pointment, from which I shall never re- 
cover — the effects of which wrought 
upon me through long years, until life be- 
came the most intolerable of burdens. 
From a total absence of all proper sympa- 
thy, I hoarded my secret, in my own 
bosom, and also my suffering. The 
natural effect of this was to produce a 
feeling of entire isolation and separation 
from every human soul. I lived in an 
entirely different world from those about 



me. A world of secret suffering. A con- 
tinual, ever-present sense of want, long- 
ing unutterable for that life and presence 
never to be enjoyed. He only, who knows 
all things, knows what those years were. 
I felt as completely separated from the 
world, as if I had been the only soul in it, 
and my whole heart was possessed with 
a longing for sympathy. You, who have 
never known a sorrow, that has not been 
tenderly sympathized with, can form no 
idea of its life-giving eff ct. As you girls 
grew into my heart, your affection fell 
upon my thirsty soul like rain upon the 
burning desert — the rain which gives 
life to those ready to perish. To feel as I 
looked into your eyes, that I had at last 
found those who had need of me, and 
whose hopes and feelings sympathized 
with mine. Who could love me, all lone- 
ly as I was. The love of your young, 
fresh souls poured into my heart new life. 
Assuaged the bitter thirst that was 
'drinking up my spirit.' Do you not 
see now something of the gratitude and 
love I must feel for you, independently of 
your feelings towards me ? You, who 
have rendered me so great a service V 
Medicine for my soul-sickness. I re- 
ceived you as you came one by one, in a 
heart all dark and sorrowful, but soon 
the day-star arose in my soul. A morn- 
ing dawned whose increasing brightness 
fills my heaven. Your love and lives were 
the means of kindling that light in my 
benighted spirit God bless and reward 



127 



all those who were helpers to me in my 
great need. Thus you see my d .rlings, 
ihat I must always love you, and feel the 
tenderest interest in your happiness, who 
have been in the hand of God so much 
the instrument of mine." 

She then counseled patience to Con- 
stance, waiting, patient waiting — so many 
good things had come to her in life, she 
said, when least expected, after long 
waiting. Constance unfolded all the story 
of caprice, and changefulness, and unsatis- 
fyingness in the devotion of the Saxon- 
haired laddie, which had made her so 
very weary, and very, very sad. It was 
an hour of fast flowing tears, weary- 
hearted tears. The storm had been gath- 
ering for weeks, and swift and passionate 
was the rain-fall, when the clouds at last 
burst. Her great burden seemed not to 
be so much the coming loneliness, under 
whose impending shadow she sat, but a 
knowledge whether well or ill founded 
rooted in her breast, that he whom she 
had enshrined in her heart, as "the 
nearer one still and the dearer one yet 
than all others," to whom she had given 
love, strong, deep, all absorbing, life- 
lasting could never give in return the full 
measure she craved, and must have, or 
her heart wither and die. 

A very quiet, tame-loving person, would 
in the constant intercourse into which we 
are thrown, become strongly attached to 
such congenial companions, but Con- 
stance is a singular person, does not 



readily give affection, even .when sought, 
but when she does open her heart to one, 
it is never again closed. It startled me, 
frightened me, as I listened to the reveal- 
ings of such entire, self-forgetting, endur- 
ing love as hers. But Auntie with her 
wider experience, larger knowledge, view- 
ed it more hopefully. She had watched 
him, she said, as she does everything that 
is connected with our happiness, closely 
and critically. She felt him to be very 
honorable, very noble, and though she ac- 
knowledged him to be very exacting, and 
oftentimes strangely suspicious, yet she 
did not believe Constance wholly without 
blame, and questioned whether much 
were not dependent upon, and called 
forth by the capricious contradictoriness 
of the little maiden herself. The tripping 
tongue of the darling saith often things 
trying and enigmatical, hard to under- 
stand, even by us who love her so en- 
tirely, and know that in her pure heart 
dwelieth unsullied truth, sincerity and 
faithfulness. The tricksy spirit of mis- 
chief and fun holds high carnival, with- 
out ever desecrating the temple of her 
soul, though often conveying to those who 
know not her spirit, impressions incor- 
rect and perplexing. Auntie worked sys- 
tematically as if quietly disentangling a 
tangled skein, and ended as she always 
does, in separating the right from the 
wrong, with her delicate, nice discerning. 
Distinguishing suspicion from reality as 
clearly and deiinably as if she were sepa- 



128 



rating false coins from true. Many of 
Constance's sincere, heart-wearying sus- 
picions gave but hollow sounds as of 
tinkling cymbals, while the olden trust 
and honor rang out true and pure as gold, 
beneath her tests. As she proceeded, 
trying each by the calm, dispassionate 
touchstone of truth, Constance's face and 
form, her entire being bore the appear- 
ance of a summer heaven from which 
black storm and thunder clouds had sud- 
denly burst and rolled away, leaving the 
bright sun to stream out through the rifts 
and patches of increasing blue sky. Do 
nothing, say nothing, fear nothing. Trust, 
believe, pray, was her closing advice. 
What a marvelous beautifier is happi- 
ness. Constance's beloved plain face 
shone almost as did Stephen's, when 
they beheld it, as it had been the face of 
an angel. 

February 18. A beautiful drive has 
marked the day as a red-letter day in my 
calendar, and for Constance, too, I ween, 
for on our return the little maiden threw 
her arms about dear Auntie's neck as we 
passed her in the hall, and I heard her 
exclaim, " You were right, as you always 
are ! I will never fear more ! I am too 
happy for words !" and the door closed 
upon her happiness, while I knew from 
her glance the room was filled to its 
utmost capacity. 

We drove in separate phaetons, giving 
us an uninterrupted heart to heart com- 
munion. Our plans were freely discussed 



between us for the first time, and the fast 
coming wedding freely planned. The 
staying here for a five year's honeymoon 
until we should lay up a " pot of money," 
to enjoy and distribute, and then, and 
then. We saw no farther into the future 
than that. Beyond was blinding Elysi- 
um. The eye can no more see in over- 
powering light than in overpowering 
darkness. I care not to see beyond. It 
does not seem any other atmosphere can 
ever be like this. Every breath bearing 
balm, and stealing like rare wine through 
the frame. I know that love is the bless- 
ed and only sun that gives this marvel- 
ous sweetness, changing all our water 
into wine, and our food into veritable 
ambrosia and nectar, and that it will 
abide with us forever, not only as a pana- 
cea for all the ills of life, but " in the 
things that common grow. Wakening up 
the lieavenly show," as it does now in 
the beautiful, the "Holy Present," still 
I do not care to look forward. 

Everything in the bright salon at even- 
ing was illuminated with the "soft, au- 
roral light of love." The evening had 
been set apart as aLandor night. Walter 
Savage is one of Cousin Harry's especial 
loves, and he had with rare taste marked 
beforehand chosen passages for our delec- 
tation, to be rolled as sweet morsels under 
our tongues. For two beautiful hours he 
flew like a bee from one honeyed page to 
another, and from one fragrant volume to 
another, stealing sweets from all, without 



129 



hanninGf the integrity and perfection of 
any. Kow ho would read from some of 
his Ima.2:inary Conversations, then "bits 
of song," and back again to conversa- 
tions in fresh climes and tones. We 
listened to the last extract with the relish 
of the first. 

Mr. Montague remarked, "The pas- 
sages selected gathered into a book would 
form a charming volume of Landor Mem- 
orabilioe." 

"With our own vote of thanks," said 
Theodora, "let us humbly petition him 
to publish them, entitling them Analecta. 
He rarely refuses to hold out the golden 
sceptre." 

" They have all seen the light through 
the windows of print," replied Cousin 
Harry, with courteous acknowledgment 
of the delicate compliment, "and all 
vv'ith taste to enjoy part, would revel in 
the whole. I would not mutilate his 
works, except for a banquet on an even- 
ing like this." 

"It will be a very SAveet one in our 
herbal of memories," said Alice, "and 
one enjoyed with infinite relish, whose 
flavor will long linger on our lips." 

" Do you think Dickens was justifiable 
in holding Landor up to the eye of the 
dear public in the character of Boy thorn V" 
asked Mr. Carlton. 

" It was a very dangerous experiment," 
answered Cousin Harry, "but in this case 
it did not break friendship, as it did so 
sadly in the impersonation of Leigh Hunt 



as Skimpole — nor grieve a sensitive spirit, 
as did the character of Little Mowcher. 
These two cases were life-long lessons to 
Dickens. You remember Foster tells us 
that drawing Mowcher from an obscure 
little diminutive entirely outside the read- 
ing world, he thought it impossible she 
should ever hear of the characterization, 
and that when he received her pathetic 
little remonstrance he was grieved to the 
heart, and strove to make what reparation 
he could, by changing her destiny, and in- 
vesting her with virtues unthought of in 
his original plan. I suppose Landor loved 
a good laugh too well to be vexed. ' 

"Instead of being angry, he would 
rather have given vent to some great vol- 
ley of superlatives, or thrown his head up 
like a blood-hound, and given that tre- 
mendous Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! which is part of 
his history," said Cousin Harry. 

"What a genial history it is," remark- 
ed the Ebony Knight, " and yet one 
always rises from it with a sad, dissatis- 
fied feeling over his undisciplined life. 
One is sure he accomplished but a tithe of 
what his capacities fitted him to accom- 
plish. The story is one of a heterogeneous, 
undisciplined rabble of feelings, thoughts, 
and actions. Incapable of anything on a 
limited scale, he was as extravagant in 
his absurdities as his well-doings. Utter 
want of self-control is visible in every 
phase of his life and character. ' If he 
wrote, it was simply as an indulgence, 
ruled utterly by capricious moods and 



130 



tenses. What it pleased him to do at 
each given moment, he did, and nothing 
else. The recognition of obligations and 
duties was a lost sense with him. ' When 
we reflect that he wrote Gebir in his 
twentieth year, what might he not have 
accomplished in his long life, but for his 
wayward, flighty purpose." 

"Indecision, too, was one of his marked 
weaknesses," said Mr, Graharj. ''Gebir, 
he tells us, was first composed in Latin, 
at least many parts of it, and that he was 
at a loss in which language to complete 
it. That he lost the manuscript, but 
found it afterwards in a box of letters, 
and adds that before printing it he re- 
duced it nearly oue-half. Porty years 
afterward he wrote Southey, ' I am cer- 
tain that I rejected what almost every 
man would call the best part. I am 
afraid that I have boiled away too much, 
and that something of a native flavor has 
been lost in procuring a stronger and 
more austere one. ' Some of the passages 
in Gebir are wondrously beautiful. I can- 
not take a shell in my hand without remem- 
bering one, and only this morning I 
taught it to my little shell-loviog Iriend, 
Guy. 

'• Foster says of it, that it has become 
* one of the glories of our language, and 
which it is impossible to transcribe with- 
out some of the pleasure that must have 
attended its conception.' To taste the 
pleasure anew, I voice it once again, the 
more that I wondered Mr. Montgomery 



did not give it place in his otherwise per- 
fect selections. 

" ' But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue 
Within, and they that lustre have imbibed, 
In the Sun's palace porch, where, when un- 
yoked, 
His chariot wheel stands raid\Yay in the wave. 
Shake one, and it awakens : then apply 
Its polished lips to your attentive ear, 
And it remembers its august abodes, 
And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.' " 

*' These lines murmur of his infinite 
possibilities," said Cousin Kate, "and 
make me murmur rebelliously that he 
should have been such an ' idle, busy 
man.' As his biographer says, ' With so 
many plans, literary and professional, 
that he began none of them. He was so 
busy that he did nothing. ' 

"For long years after putting out this 
first great poem, we hear his friends con- 
stantly begging him to do something 
worthy of the author of Gebir, but he 
scribbles lampoons at his own wild will, 
and lets his opportunities slip by. I can 
see the eagerness of his friend Bough, 
when he writes, ' He who retains in his 
cabinet, shells gathered from the "sun's 
palace porch," should not defile his col- 
lection with dirty fungusses,' and again, 
'Come, come, rouse yourself and write.' 
Perhaps if success had smiled upon him 
at first, it might have given the stimulus, 
but issuing it in his thoughtless way in^ a 
sixpenny pamphlet, it never attained it. 
Years after its publication he admits 



131 



tcuchingly to Southey, ' I confess to you, 
if even foolish men had read Gebir, I 
should have continued to write poetry. 
There is something of summer in the 
hum of insects. ' To some parts of Gebir, 
Foster applies Hazlitt's famous saying 
concerning Shakespeare's Egyptian scen- 
ery — 'There is a richness about them 
like the overflowing of the Kile.' " 

' ' His friendships were the only stable 
part of him, I believe," said Mr. Carlton. 
" These were so beautiful, that I do not 
wonder at Hogg's saying, ' If I wished to 
confer a real benefit upon a friend, I 
would procure for him, if it were possible, 
the friendship of Mr. Landor. ' The one 
with Southey is especially beautiful. 
Thirty years old when they first met, the 
friendship then begun, ended only in 
death. From that day regularly at suc- 
cessive intervals, Foster tells us for five 
years, Southey sent a transcript of each 
section of the whole of his poems, and in 
payment, as duly Landor returned ad- 
miration, suggestion, and encouragement. 
Southey said it was more than probable 
he should never have written again, but 
for that accidental meeting with Landor. 
lie had totally disused the art for years. 
It has been well-called, 'a great intimacy, 
Luch as exists between the vine and the 
forest trees that support it.' Even be- 
fore the meeting Southey desired to meet 
him with a great desire, designating him 
as ' the man I most wish to meet I" and 
La,ndor echoed, 'V/hen my spirits wax 



faint, I say to myself, I have yet to see 
Eome and Southey.' " 

"You did not," said Mr. Montague, 
"in culling flowers for this evening, 
gather his lines upon the action of climate 
upon character. They are favorites of 
mine, 

*' ' "We are what suns, and winds and waters make 

us, 
The mountains are oiir sponsors, and the rills, 
Fashion and win their nurslings with their 

smiles.' 

Ending with 

" ' The heart is hardest in the softest climes 
The passions flourish, the affections die.' 

"He was as sensitive to every touch of 
external nature, as to the influences of 
the companions surrounding him, and 
confesses : ' I, myself am an oddly mixed 
metal, with a pretty large portion ot iron 
in it, and am sensitive to the curse of cli- 
mate. ' In his letters he makes constant 
mention of the weather, and the ' skj^ey 
influences,' needing a 'mental water- 
proof ' as a protection against ' spiritual 
rheumatism. ' I remember his once writ- 
ing to a friend similarlysensitiveto clima- 
tic influences, 'There is no intemperate 
weather in which I do not think of you.' 
And on another occasion he writes from 
Berkshire, when visiting not the ' Hare 
of Many Friends,' but Francis Hare: 
' Lately, from the want of sun, and ail 
things cheerful, my saddened and wearied 
mind has often roosted on the acacias 



132 



and cypresses I plauted. Thou^^hts when 
they're weakest take the longest flights, 
and tempt the wintry seas in darkest 
nights. How is that when I am a little 
melancholy, my words are apt to fall into, 
verse ? Joy has never such an effect 
upon me. In fact, we hardly speak when 
we meet, and are at best but bowing ac- 
quaintance.' He often complains of cold 
in his letters, and often with little cause, 
but on one occasion his biographer states 
that 'everything around him, but his 
friends' cheerful greeting, was congealed, 
and into so enormous a bed was he put to 
sleep, with such a frozen sea of sheets 
stretching out on every side of him, that 
for once he envied the bed of Procrustes. ' 
He used to say, ' A new climate makes a 
new creature, ' and that ' when we stand 
between forty and fifty, we want the 
sun and zephyrs for other purposes than 
poetry.' " 

"What a pity his marriage was not 
different ?" said Cousin Kate, whoso 
thoughts are ever true to "love and home 
and other fireside things." "A wife 
such as is described in the last chapter of 
Proverbs, might have proven spur and 
ballast, and regulator, supplying all that 
he lacked. It was like everything else 
the offspring of a sudden thought. He 
married the pretty Julia Thuillier with 
literally no knowledge of her, except that 
she had more curls on her head than any 
other girl in Bath. His excuse, a strange- 
ly crude one for a man of thirty-seven years 



to offer, was, ' It is my belief that an ex- 
cellent wife is seldom made perfect to our 
hands, but is in part the creation of the 
husband after marriage, the result of his 
character and behaviour acting upon her 
own.' The disparity in years being so 
great, added to other disparities, may 
have formed one reason why before three 
short years of married life had passed, a 
domestic quarrel occurred concerning 
living permanently in France. It seems 
to have been her fault, as though ac- 
knowledging himself possessed of a tem- 
per, ' the worst beyond comparison that 
ever man was cursed with,' he endured 
her reproaches, anger, tears, and mock- 
ery a full hour and a half without a sylla- 
ble of reply, but every kind and tcndei' 
sentiment was rooted up from his heart 
forever. No woman, said he, could or 
ought to live with a man by whom such 
language was merited ; nor could any 
man support life with a woman from 
whom it fell undeserved. Poor man, my 
heart aches at the remembrance of his 
words to Southey. 'The tempest that 
drove me into France, prohibits my re- 
turn, and the halcyons will never make 
their nests on the seas that I must tra- 
verse.' And again after he had returned 
to her, and borne, and forborne for nearly 
a quarter of a century, that she should 
lay upon him the one ounce burden that 
could not bo borne, the straw which broke 
the camel's back, is almost incredible. 
Deep, torturing experience gave birth to 



i: 



the words of one of his unfinished con- 
versations. 

" Speaking of the troubles of a married 
man, he says, ' The waters of bitterness 
do not fall on his head in a cataract, but 
through a colander, one, however, like 
the vases of the Danaides, perforated only 
for replenishment.' We know scarcely 
the vestibule of a house of which we 
fancy we have penetrated all the corners. 
We know not how grievously a man may 
have suffered long before the calumnies 
of the world befell him, as he reluctantly 
left his house door. I do not justify him 
in leaving her, but pity him I do sincerely. 
We know he was irritable to the last 
degree , and intemperate of tongue. Know- 
ing this one would have thought she would 
have learned to weather the stormy sea, 
taking for her motto, his own description 
of a true wife : 

' If he loves me, the merit is not mine, 

the fault will be, if he ceases,' remember- 
ing more can be said in one moment, than 
can be forgotten in a life time." 

"When we remember," said Mr. 
Graham, "the extravaganzas in which he 
indulged on the most trifling occasions, 
what must he have done on grave ones. 
I' faith, I envy not the wife of such a man. 
Think of his chronicling, ' ISTot receiving 
any letter at Kaples, I hesitated between 
drowning myself, and going post-back.' 

" Again I remember his losing his road 
to a friend's house, where a party were 



waiting dinner for him, when he called a 
country bumpkin in a peremptory manner, 
bidding him at once show him the road, 
or cut his throat on the spot. A man 
capable of these outbursts, would be 
equal to sending out a 'hurricane of 
abuse.' " 

"Yes, but he had his lovesome side 
too," said Theodora, "His love for his 
children, his tenderness for his mother, 
and his unfailing birthday remembrances 
to her — his love for his household gods, 
was wondrously beautiful — devoted, faith- 
ful, untiring — how little we know of what 
he 'might have been?' Do you remem- 
ber his apostrophe to his children — 
' Where ou earth is there so much society 
as in a beloved child ? He accompanies 
me in my walks, gazes into my eyes for 
what I atn gathering from books, tells me 
more and better things than they do, and 
asks me often what neither I nor they can 
answer. When he is absent, I am filled 
with reflections, when he is present I have 
room for none beside what I receive from 
him. The charms of his childhood bring 
me back to the delights of mine, and I 
fancy I hear my own words in a sweeter 
voice. Will he — Oh ! how I tremble at 
the mute oracle of futurity ! — will he ever 
be as happy as I have been?' " 

" The devoted father speaks in every 
line," said Cousin Kate. "Do you re- 
member his saying of his first child, ' I 
am anxious for the time when he will 
talk as much nonsense to me as I have to 



134 



him. Among my few blessings, I have 
clways reckoned this, that every child in 
the world loves me. Amongst grown 
men, I question whether there are five 
upon earth that do.' " 

"The angel over the right shoulder," 
said Cousin Harry, ' ' will be busy as the 
one over the left. If there is much of bad 
to heap into the one scale, there is much 
of good to lift the balance. It seems the 
tear of the Eecording Angel, as he drops 
it in, will lift the scale, lie shed many 
himself in his pilgrimage. Think of his 
writing Southey : ' Children arc such 
precarious blessings, that I do not inquire 
concerning yours without some degree of 
fear. ' To see the happiness of children 
was his great delight, while his sympathy 
with all their childish frailties and troubles 
was perfect, leading him to exclaim, in 
his extravagant way, ' All the woes I have 
suffered are nothing to what I suffered 
in learning grammar and arithmetic,' and 
' What a pity it is such divine creatures 
should ever be men, and subject to regrets 
and sorrows !' For them he longed to 
interrogate the future — in everything 
showing the need of the power of the Divine 
Life to bear up the weakness of his own. 
I think of him with the tenderness we 
give to a spoiled child." 

" His volumes of Imaginary Conversa- 
tions are volumes of delight," said Mr. 
Mortimer. "Ko one could better under- 
stand the ^ carle and tierce of rejoinder 
and reply,' and they are read with ever- 



increasing delight. Emerson says that 
Landor's books are the most thumbed 
upon his table. That after making his 
Dialogues companions for more than forty 
years, he wished publicly to express his 
gratitude for having given him a resource 
that had never failed him in solitude. 
What music such a tribute from such a 
source is to the ears of all his admiring 
friends." 

"He rarely failed," returned Cousin 
Harry, "to 'hit the nail on the head,' as 
in common parlance is strongly said. 
'His canons of style are always sound.' 
Of some passages a critic said, 'The 
sound is like the ring of Roman swords 
on the helmet of barbarians.' His sen- 
tences, like those of Socrates, cubes which 
will stand firm, place them how or where 
you wiU." 

"Yes," responded the sable Knight, 
" the ' unsubdued old Roman' was ' Chiv- 
alresquc of the old school.' His hand- 
some fair face, like a ray of sunshine — 
his laugh ' in peals and climbing, seeming 
to fetch every one from a higher story.' " 

" The Conversation between Lady Jane 
Grey and Sir Roger Ascham is my favor- 
ite," said Theodora. 

" His Pericles and Aspasia," said Cou- 
sin Harry, "received their meed of praise 
from the appreciative few, but the old 
mingled cup was still his, and he said he 
received a kick, between every two com- 
pliments. The Pentameron was well re- 
ceived ; still it had some ' bookish misad- 



K 



ventures. ' Ills Plays were unsuccessful, 
and drew from him the exclamation, 
* the Literary Congress have condemned 
me to St. Helena.' The last volume of 
Conversations of Italian and English 
Poets have great charms for me. Do you 
remember the one concluding with, A rib 
of Shakespeare, would have made a Mil- 
ton, the same portion of Milton, all the 
poets born since." 

''I know nothing of his books," said 
Alice, ' ' save what you have read to-night, 
but his overweeniLg love for flowers, and 
pets, crops out in all you have read, be- 
traying his tender heart. I do not won- 
der Dickens portrayed Boythorn with a 
canary. I liked the little story you read 
of the kitten, who mewed eternally, tell- 
ing him in plain language that old people 
and young never do well together. His 
counting his dogs among his true bless- 
ings, and his regrets over field sports, in- 
dicate exquisite tenderness of nature. I 
shall never forget the touching way in 
which he winds up his talk upon field- 
sports. ' It is hard to take away what 
we cannot give, and life is a pleasant 
thing at least to birds. No doubt the 
young ones say tender things one to an- 
other, and even the old ones do not dream 
of death.' " 

" His conversations are truly marvels, 
when we consider, ' ' said the Black Knight, 
*' that in them nearly 200 men and women 
live again, and that he has talked well 
and wittily, with the men and women of 



nearly every nation, and every age. It is 
good when such a man retains, his facul- 
ties to old age, and I feel like offering a 
thanksgiving, often as I think of his 
describing himself as a man in his seven- 
ty-second year, running with his tongue 
out, after the muses. His mental charac- 
teristics were most peculiar, as for in- 
stance, he confessed, ' Unless I write with 
rapidity, I write badly, and unless I read 
with rapidity, I lose my grasp of the sub- 
ject.' His corrections he called penti- 
ments, after thoughts, and once wrote 
the publisher of his collected works, 'I 
suddenly remembered this morning a 
correction which I ought to have made 
fifty-four years ago.' " 

"His habits were very peculiar," I 
ventured. " He seldom wrote ' straight 
on end,' as the hunters say, or in the 
house, ' but generally while I am walking, 
or riding, or sitting out in the air, some- 
times in a very small pocket-book, some- 
times on a scrap of paper, ' " he says. 

''His last book," said dear Auntie, 
" which you chose so appropriately for my 
Christmas gift, has come to be my favor- 
ite. Shakespeare asks, ' What's in a 
name ?' In the nomenclature of books, 
there is a great deal, and his two last are 
singularly appropriate. I do love to come 
upon a word, or title that exactly expresses 
what it is intended to convey. These 
were, 'Last Fruits from an Old Tree,' 
gathered in his 82d year, and ' Dry Sticks, 
faggoted by W. S. Landor. ' Full of beauty, 



136 



and pathos, was the loosening of the ripe 
fruit from the overladen bough, when in 
his 90th year in the early dawn of May- 
day morning, he called for his pen, and 
wrote several lines of verse, and then 
leaning back said, ' I shall never write 
again. "" Put out the lights, and draw the 
curtains.' He lived however until the 



17th of September, writing a note to Fos- 
ter, only the day previous. May he rest 
in peace I" 

" Jjijmce," we all echoed, and sat rev- 
erently in. silence for a few moments, in 
loving memory of the departed soul that 
had poured itself out for our pleasure and 
profit. 



137 



CHAPTER XIII. 



February 19th. The Heavens one " sea 
of blessedness, " and the earth of purity. 
The snow unspotted as the "robe of 
righteousness." 

A day of letter writing with me, and 
upon my announcing it, the household 
divinities appropriated it at once, as the 
text for the evening. But before I enter 
upon that, let rae say, that the clouds have 
floated away from dear Constance's sky, 
and her heaven is so unlike the heaven of 
yesterday, she took upon her lips Lan- 
der's famous saying, ^'It seems as if I 
must have assisted in another life," as we 
were separating to our sanctums last night. 

I had a long letter from the Best One, 
which made my " bosom's lord sit lightly 
on his throne. " If its messages were not 
too sacred to breathe above my breath, I 
would voice some of them, for you dear 
Familiar, that you might have a vision, 
revealing how beautifal Love can be. 

Constance and her "Saxon haired 
laddie," have found their seemingly ir- 
remediable sorrows, but the "baseless 
fabric of a dream." Kow, they will un- 
derstand each other, as by the exchange 
of the keys of their hearts, each can enter 
into the very innermost shrine of the other, 
and I know they will find nothing but 



what is faithful, good, loving and earnest. 
Constance was not so madly, restlessly gay 
as at intervals she has been of late, but so 
sweetly, gaily gay, like the bubbling over 
of a sparkling fountain of gladness. 
Blessedness that would not be repressed, 
while Mr. Graham bore the look of one too 
happy almost for mortality. When all 
were assembled, he led Constance to 
Auntie, and when they knelt before her, 
she laid upon their bowed heads hands of 
blessing, and then summoned by Cousin 
Kate, we each laid a hand upon either 
head, until they were nearly covered, and 
tenderest benedictions were invoked upon 
the kneeling pair. It was like consecra- 
ting them to a new vocation, and tears 
gathered in all eyes. The real Betrothal 
will not be until after Easter, when I 
think the wedding will soon follow, as 
Mr. Graham goes with Auntie to escort 
her horae, and obtain her Father's bless- 
ing. 

The Knights came early upon the 
carpet. It was not one of our regular 
nodes, but we have grown so concordant 
and clubbable a club, we gravitate to- 
gether by some unknown law, as soon as 
the sun goes down. Now and then, we 
get a peep by day, and by sun, or candle- 



138 



light, their presence is welcome, as the 
light of sun and stars. 

Well, when we gathered around the 
large salon table I ventured, never dream- 
ing of sounding the key note of the nodes 
Virginiana. '" I have had a day of letter- 
writing!" 

" A Walpolian Day !" exclaimed the 
good Knight of the raven wing, for Wal- 
pole by his own confession led a "life of 
letter- writing. " 

" Who wrote the first letter on record ?" 
queried '^Mine Host." 

All acknowledged ignorance, but dear 
Auntie, from whose memory no leaf is 
torn out, who replied, " 1 think the first 
one recorded, was written by David to 
Joab, directing him to place Uriah in the 
front of the battle, and the next, when 
Queen Jezebel wrote letters in Ahab's 
name, and sealed them with his seal, and 
sent them to the elders and nobles." 

"A very comical, and curious book 
could be written," said Cousin Kate, 
"upon the history and curiosities of 
letter-writing. I wonder D 'Israeli did 
not hit upon it, and exhaust it, with his 
other 'Curiosities.' " 

"Why not seize upon the idea, Mr. 
Graham, and entitle it the Sinequanon- 
ines of Letters," cried Constance with 
the old time Sparkle. 

* ' Oh ! for a quill plucked from a 
seraph's wing, 'to do your bidding!'" 
gaily responded the Saxon haired laddie, 



"The unborn pages crowd upon my 
soul!'" 

"It is dangerous to keep enthusiasm 
bottled," she replied, springing up with 
the old elastic tread, and rushing for a 
Yinaigrette with "foot as light as e'er 
from the heather brushed the dew." 
' ' Help I Help 1 New wine in old bottles. 
He will effervesce, foam, bubble, burst. 
Is there no man to have pity ?" 

"Oh! Miss Constance," he cried, "if 
only you will play safety valve for my 
stupidity, there will be no danger." 

"I promise, but oh ! if the disposition 
to write should come upon us both at the 
same time, an explosion would be inevit- 
able *, for midnight warnings, nor matin 
bells can stop my pen, when once the 
mood is on me. Unintermittingly, and 
inkily, my pen scribbles on, with little ref- 
erence to hieroglyphics, and none, to the 
strength, and patience of my correspond- 
ence, though the cruel foes of my own 
household sing endlessly : 

' Unfortunate maiden, how sad is your lot, 
Your ringlets are red, and your letters are not.' 

" I have a passion for letters," returned 
Mr. Graham, " my capacities of endur- 
ance and enjoyment are inexhaustible in 
that line. I take it as a sign we were 
' born for each other, ' as the nursery bal- 
lads say." 

" Have a care I have a care ! you little 
know the swarm of infinitessimal nothings 
you are. drawing down upon your devoted 



139 



head. The Korth American pigeon 
flights, pale their ineffectual blackness of 
numbers, before the winged favors that 
may cloud your hitherto clear atmosphere. 
Count the leaves of the forest when au- 
tumn has strewn, the sands on the sea 
shore, would you know of your fate. 
Smothered with hillet doux. What an 
inglorious epitaph, for the victim of a 
woman's pen." 

"I dare all, brave all, welcome. Let 
them, 

* Come as the winds come, when forests are 

Tended, 
Come as the waves come, when navies are 

stranded, 
Faster come, faster come, faster and faster I' " 

cried Mr. Graham. 

" A compact I a compact I Be sure the 
Yankee organ will be well played, " she re- 
plied. 

" Have you not a single golden fleeced 
sheep for me. Miss Constance ?" asked 
the knightliest of Knights. " I have end- 
less capacities of endurance in that way, 
and would be glad to gather even 'the 
crumbs that fall from his table.' " 

" Thou too, good Knight !" she ex- 
claimed. 

" Groodness gracious ! can this be me ? 
I will look in the hay-stack of my treas- 
ures, and see if there be good words there 
for you, soon as my cerulean orbs recover 
from their wonder. I stand aghast at the 
complimental tide so unexpectedly rising 
over me I" 



" When the mood is on you, Constance, 
why do you not sometimes ofier your ser- 
vices," asked sweet Alice, "to some of us 
poor, walking, breathing, living imper- 
sonations of apology. For my part, I 
must acknowledge my desk to be a very 
cornucopia of unanswered letters. " 

" The stars often sit darkly upon my dis- 
position," she replied, " but if ever I had 
a fault, you know I have often told you it 
was modesty. I could never prevail upon 
my lips to offer such services to your criti- 
calities. " But indeed, rising and dropping 
a low courtesy, " my pen is always ready 
to fly through ' realms of nothingness,' for 
any of you. Consider it always at your 
service. Oh!" exclaimed she, in tragic 
despair, ' 'I believe after all you are making 
game of me. Now, I like nothing better 
than to wear the cap and bells on my own 
hook, but they wound when received in 
the house of my friends. You have trans- 
formed the dove into a lioness with your 
raillery, and high as you raised my easily 
inflated plumes so low shall the strength 
of my displeasure fall, even to the grind- 
ing to powder. Over you. Sir Knight, I 
weave a spell, that unless the strength of 
my displeasure should abate, will send 
you trudging up the hill of science bare- 
footed, and down the hill difficulty, bare- 
headed, with nothing for the inner man's 
sustaining but the identical bone Mother 
Hubbard sought for in vain, or some of 
the infinite nothings that find ' local habi- 
tation and a name ' in my brain. And 



140 



for you, Alice, I weave a charm that shall 
fling you in your assumed role of delin- 
quent upon couch, and pillow, lying weary 
and worn, wooing the drowsy god, with 
your cousin Constance lavishing upon you 
all those delicate little attentions she 
knows how to bestow at such times. Ah, 
well ! I have two friends at court who will 
shelter me from 3^our scathing sarcasms, " 
ensconscing herself between Auntie and 
Cousin Harry, saying to the latter, ''Lord 
Warwick, on thy shoulder, will I lean." 

"We protest our innocence," exclaim- 
ed Alice and Mr. Mortimer. " Unsay the 
charm ! unbind the spell ! we pray ! 

"Well, perhaps I had a slight 'sug- 
gestion of the brain,' as Mrs. Partington 
says," she replied. " I avert the impend- 
ing spell, and despite my ' dinna, canna, 
mauna, wauna, ' ofier again to move my 
gray goose quill in your service, at a 
'speed that shall make the lightning 
loll. ' " 

"Have you ever remarked," asked 
Cousin Kate, "how seldom a talent for 
conversation and a talent for letter-writing 
are found in same person. Again and 
again I have been grievously disappoint- 
ed, when after meeting persons of rare 
conversational powers, I have desired to 
continue the acquaintance, through the 
medium of pen and ink, and found to my 
surprise, no trace of talent in their letters, 
a mere 'fardel of common places,' no 
seeming' corresponsion, to coin a word, 
between the brilliant conversation, and 



the dull letters. And vice versa, I have 
repeatedly received delicious letters, bear- 
ing internal evidence of talent, culture, 
refinement, and heart, and on meeting 
the correspondents, found them anything 
but correspondences. Wall-flowers, si- 
lent as a Sphinx, and as uninteresting as 
possible. It has long been one of the 
mysteries of mind to me." 

"You remind me," returned Cousin 
Harry, " of what Johnson said of the in- 
dustrious Dr. Birch : ' Tom Birch is as 
brisk as a bee in conversation, but no 
sooner does he take a pen in his hand, 
than it becomes a torpedo to him, and be- 
numbs all his faculties.' " 

"I have often and often remarked it in 
my experience," said Mr. Montague; 
"and when you go out of private life into 
the lives of authors. Blue Stockings, and 
Literati ; those who have given us books 
which are a long delight, we often find 
them, with nothing but the most barren 
conversation, and dullest platitudes to 
offer. It is a mystery. I remember Fox 
saying to Dr. French Lawrence, 'I love 
to read your writing, but I hate to hear 
you talk.'' " 

"Exceptions prove rules," said the 
Sable Knight, " for it is not invariably so. 
There are some signal exceptions in my 
mind, among mine acquaintances and in 
Authorland, yet it is generally the case, I 
admit. Is it that there may be no mon- 
opoly of gifts ? We rarely see great 
beauty, accompanied by great intellect — 



141 



great physical, with great mental beaut}^, 
and yet we sometimes do. Usually the 
gifts the gods provide seem very evenly 
divided — compensations in every life and 
sphere." 

" Do you remember Aaron Hill's ele- 
gant verse on Letters ?" asked Theodora. 

" ' Letters from absent friends extinguish fear, 
Unite division, and draw distance near. 
Tneir magic force each silent wish conveys. 
And wafts embodied thought a thousand ways, 
Could souls to bodies write, Death's power were 

mean, 
For minds could then meet minds with Heaven 

between.' " 

"What an age of letter-writing this 
is!" remarked Auntie. "Even in the 
space of my own life, what an increase in 
the number of letters daily written and 
received. The old-fashioned little leathern 
bag is superseded by mammoth receptacles 
whose name is Legion. Is there more love 
in the world ? or is it deeper, more crav- 
ing, more exacting than of old ? that it 
requires so much more expression." 

" Perhaps," said Mr. Carlton, "the ap- 
pliances and conveniences postal may 
have somewhat to do with the increase. 
The modern arrangements render possible 
what would have been impossible even a 
few years ago. The solitary post-boy 
with his horn full of news, could carry but 
a moiety of the letters, that modern socie- 
ty sends forth. As conveniences of travel 
have developed, travelers have multiplied 
in the same ratio, so multiplication of 



mail-bags, has developed letters. The 
dear old rumbling stage-coach of pleasant 
memor}^ carried all that wished to wander 
in the dear old grandmother days, and 
now steam can hardly transport all who 
wish to roam. I wonder if we prize our 
frequent missives, as the infrequent ones 
were prized in those old days." 

" It is very difficult to measure or weigh 
sensations," said I; "but I cannot im- 
agine greater pleasure than I have receiv- 
ed to-day. Hearts must have been made 
of other stuff if they could prize letters 
more. I prize them to the top of my bent. 
Everything external changes, but the in- 
ternal life remains the same, i^ote the 
contrast in externals, in Cowper's Apos- 
trophe to the Post-boy, while the feelings 
excited are a picture of to-day : 

'Hark! 'tis the twanging horn ©'er yonder 

bridge. 
That with its wearisome but needful length 
Bestrides the wintry flood ; in which the moon 
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright : — 
He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 
With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen 

locks, 
Xews from all nations lumb'ring at his back, 
True to his charge, the close pack'd load be- 
hind, 
Tct careless what he brings, his one concern 
Is to conduct it to the desuined inn ; 
And having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on. 
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch. 
Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some ; 
To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 
Houses in ashes and the fall of stocks ; 



142 



Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
With tears, that trickled down the writer's 

cheelis 
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, 
Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains, 
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 
His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
But, oh, the important budget ! ushered in 
With such heart-shaking mlisick, who can say 
What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd ? 
Ur do they still, as if with opium drugg'd 
Snore to the murmurs of Ih' Atlantic wave? 
Is India free ? and does she wear her plum'd 
And jewel'd turban with a smile of peac3. 
Or do we grind her still ? The grand debate, 
The popular harangue, the tart reply, 
The logick, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
And the loud laugh, — I long to know them all. 
I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free. 
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.' 

" Our letters often give the color to our 
days. How often has a bright day been 
clouded, and a dark one brightened, by a 
white-winged messenger, placed carelessly 
in our hand by the indifferent postman." 

"Do you remember Mrs. Browning's 
Sonnet upon her Love-letters ?" asked 
the Black Knight : 

* My letters ! all dead paper — mute and white. 
And yet they seem alive and quivering 
Against my trembling hands, which loose the 

string, 
And let them drop down on my knee to-night. 
This said : he wished to have mc in his sight. 
Once, as a friend ; this fixed a day in spring 
To come and touch my hand, — a simple thing — 

Yet I wept for it ! This— the paper's light. 
Said : Dear, I love thee ; and I sank and quail'd 

As if God's future thundered on my past. 



This said : I am thine— and so its ink h".s paled 
With lying at my heart, that beat too fast. 

And this O Love, thy words have ill availed, 

If, what this said, I dared repeat at last.' " 

"• Letters are among my most cherished 
treasures," said Auntie, '• but it is bo- 
coming the fashion to have a frequent 
letter auto-de-fe^ and with some, it ha;3 
come to be a principle, and they bring 
things new and old to support it. Stories 
of old letters falling into wrong hands, 
and stiring up strife and mischief — adding 
fuel to flame, &c. ; of publication of sa- 
cred confidences, that which was *whis- 
pered in the ear, proclaimed upon the 
house-top. I often have a winnowing, 
and destroy what I can bear to part with, 
but I nearly extinguish the flames with 
my tears. I have several packages labelled 
' To be burned unopened, when I am 
gone !' that I could not part with while 
life lingers. Several times similar boxes 
have been left by the departed, as a sacred 
legacy to me, to destroy, and by the faith- 
fulness, with which I lulfiUed the trust, 
I rely upon the like faithfulness, being 
shown to me. I think I sbould like their 
ashes gathered in an urn, and buried with 
me. Methinks I could taste their sweet- 
ness even there. 'Even in the ashes 
would live their wonted fires.' " 

"I know of no tenderer i)leasure than 
the reading of old letters," said I ; '* some 
of Auntie's packages have been unfailing 
sources of delight to us. Our parents' 
lives, and our own are all to be seen in 



143 



them as in a mirror. Oh ! the days, and 
days, we have spent over her caskets, 
esteeming her the verj'^ Lady Bountiful of 
pleasure the while. I have thought Fan- 
nie Burney's ' Evelina ' owed part of its 
charm to its letter form.'' 

'" There is almost as great a difference 
in the contents of letters as in their num- 
ber," said Cousin Harry. ''The old for- 
mal stateliness and conventionality is gone, 
and in their place have come free play of 
fancy and feeling as well as of expression, 
attaining very nearly perfection, if the 
rule is correct, that the more nearly they 
resemble an interview, the more perfect 
they are, that is, we should write as we 
speak." 

''I remember," said Theodora, "learn- 
ing by heart, verbatim^ ad literatum ad 
seriatum^ for a teacher, who required it, 
that a letter, should be a photographic 
transcript of the writer's mind, and of the 
circumstances surrounding him at the 
time of writing. To prevent aught of 
dry or withered creeping in, the fruit 
should have upon it the bloom of our 
youngest thoughts, and a maiden dew 
should be upon its leaf. 8ome in lieu of. 
letters write homilies, they preach when 
they should epistolize." 

'' We have models of almost every 
variety of letters," said Mr. Montague, 
"preserved to us. Cicero's were amus- 
ing, he rarely wrote without a pinch or 
two of that salt which he held a prime 
condiment of his epistolary banquets. 



saying, 'My wit is an estate, which I 
will sedulously maintain.' He always 
salted his letters with jests, and we should 
rifle the volumes of antiquity in vain, to 
find a letter writer, who conversed on 
paper so naturally, so engagingly, so much 
from the heart as Cicero." 

"Seneca's letters are wonderful stud' 
ies, like Miss Theodora," said Mr. Gra- 
ham. " I call upon memory, to voice an 
opinion, long since anchored in my mind. 
Seneca's end and aim in letter-writing, 
was to clothe in the form of an espistle, 
every qua3stio or qucestinncula of philosophy 
as it occurred to him, twisting moral les- 
sons out of Vatia's Villa, and that of 
Africanus, and makes a sea voyage serve 
for a peg on which to hang a picture of 
the waves of this troublesome world. Ko 
better account of the difference betwixt 
his letters, and Cicero's, can be given than 
his own, namely, that Cicero's principle 
was to write, whether he had anything 
to say or not, whereas his was, never to 
put pen to paper, unless to propound some- 
thing edifying. " 

" if we are playing the role of parrot," 
said Theodora, "I will continue it by 
quoting the engrafted opinion ; Pliny's 
letters possessed .elegance, life, and inter- 
est, but were studied, revised and polish- 
ed, giving them an air of coxcombry. 
There is no doubt Pliny set up Cicero for 
his model, his mistake was to aim at 
transferring to the familiar epistle, the 
flow and finish of Ciceronian oratory. He 



144 



could not call a spade, a spade. All is 
written in the grand style. All is prim- 
ness and red tape. Ihe impression of 
heartiness was almost effaced by too mani- 
fest elaboration. ' ' 

"Have you ever read any of Sir Wil- 
liam Temple's letters ?" asked Mr. Mor- 
timer. "I admire them greatly. As some 
one very justly says of him : ' There are 
jets of humor in them, and he has a happy 
way of putting the man he writes of be- 
fore his correspondent in a few touches. '" 

"I do not know them," said Cousin 
Harry. "I am a great admirer of Syd- 
ney's correspondence, and still more of 
James Howell of the 17th century. If he 
is not one of your acquaintances, I will 
read a few extracts from some of his let- 
ters, to give you an idea of his epistolary 
skill." 

Cries of "Howell and Montgomery," 
induced him to take the volume from its 
niche and read. I brought it up with me 
purposely to give you a treat, dear Fa- 
miliar. 

" ' It was a quaint difference,' he writes 
in 1625, 'the ancients did put betwixt a 
letter and an oration, that the one shall 
be attired like a woman, the other like a 
man : the latter of the two is allowed 
large side robes, long periods, parenthe- 
ses, similes, examples, and other parts of 
rhetorical flourish, but a letter or epistle 
should be short-coated, and closely couch- 
ed, a hungerlin (a kind of furred robe) be- 



comes a letter more handsomely than a 
gown, indeed we should write as we speak, 
and that is a true familiar letter which ex- 
presseth ones mind, as if he were dis- 
coursing with the party to whom he 
writes, in succint and short terms.' " 
Then turning the pages he said, the fol- 
lowing description of a newly married 
couple gives a fair sample of his amusing 
vein : ' I was, according to your desire 
to visit the new-married couple more 
than once, and to tell you true, I never 
saw such disparity between two that were 
made one flesh in all my life. He, hand- 
some outwardly, but of odd conditions, 
she excellently qualified, but hard favor- 
ed ; so that the one may be compared to 
a cloth of tissue doublet, cut upon coarse 
canvas, the other to a buckram petticoat 
lined with satin. I think Clotho had 
her fingers smutted in snufiing the can- 
dle, when she began to spin the thread of 
her life, and Lachesis frowned in twist- 
ing it up, but Aglaia with the rest of the 
Graces, was in good humor, when they 
formed her inner parts. A blind man is 
fitted to hear her sing, one would delight 
to see her dance if masked, and it would 
please you to discourse with her after 
dark, for then she is best company, if 
your imagination can forbear to run upon 
her face. When you marry, I wish you 
such an inside of a wife, but from such an 
outward physiognomy, the Lord deliver 
you, and your faithful friend to serve you. ' 
Many have sparkling mots, and anecdotes 



145 



as seasoning, and still never fall into anec- 
dotic dotage." 

"Samuel Pepys," said Mr. Graham, 
"was a dear chronicler of small beer, but 
more of a Diarist, than letter writer. 
Some reputed Models, I characterize as 
'Composition Letters.' Those of Sir 
Kichard Steele to his wife, immortalized 
him from their tenderness, generosity 
and chivalrous devotion, and are as full 
of drollery as of affection. " 

"Miss Smedley says," said Theodora, 
"the periodic task of written talk, is 
hard to many hearts. Few only, warm 
it with such living breath that it becomes 
a voice." 

"Madame de Sevigne's," I ventured, 
* ' are delicious models, genuine heart- 
leaflets, mingled with great playfulness. 
Do you remember the story she hastei:te 
to write, because it is ' so hot she cannot 
keep it. ' She had a rare gift of making 
her acquaintances and interests yours. 
Lady Montague's were head leaflets, 
clever and amusing, but lacking all ten- 
derness and warmth." 

' ' Mrs. Delaney, Fanny Burney and 
Hannah More and the Misses Berry, each 
held the ' pen of a ready writer,' " said 
Cousin Kate ; " Walpole, however, was 
called the prince of letter-writers. Do 
you recall his letters to the Misses Berry, 
whom he called his 'two wives,' ' angels 
inside and out,' 'lam afraid of protest- 
ing how much I delight in your society,' 
he wrote them, 'lest I should seem to 



affect being gallant ; but if two affinitieg 
make a negative, why may not two ridi- 
cules compose one piece of sense ? And 
therefore as I am in love with you both, 
I trust it is a proof of the good sense of 
your devoted II. ^Y. ' Wisely has it been 
said, every age should have a Horace Wal- 
pole ; he united the good sense of Fon- 
tenelle with the Attic sauce and graces 
of Count Anthony Hamilton. " 

"Cowper's letters are rarely beautiful 
in my eyes, and to my old-fashioned taste, 
as you have all been quoting your favor- 
ites, I have looked out from Cowper, one of 
mine, ' said Auntie. ' Now upon the faith 
of a poor creature, I have said all I have 
said without the least intention to say one 
word of it when I began, but it is thus with 
my thoughts. When you shake a crab- 
tree, the i'ruit falls, good for nothing indeed 
when you have got it, but still the best 
that is to be expected of a crab-tree.' 
His letters were the fashion when I was 
young, and though they have lost none 
of their sweetness by age, it is true there 
is fashion in taste, as in everything else. 
A few months ago, a dear friend of my 
youth told me she was going abroad, and 
the chief delight she anticipated, was 
the opportunity of visiting every nook 
mentioned by Cowper in his letters." 

"Southey, Scott, Lamb, Coleridge and 
Sydney Smith were correspondents to 
covet," said Alice. "My favorite book- 
shelves, are those filled with the published 
letters,- of celebrated men and women. In 



14G 



the musical world, what a world of delight 
is opened in the letters of Mendelssohn, 
and Beethoven, Mozart, &c. And in the 
w^orld of Friendship, I agree with Tupper, 
' A letter timely writ, is a rivet in the 
chain of affection. A letter untimely de- 
layed is as rust to the solder.' " 

" Among the curiosities of letter- writ- 
ing, did you ever see Politian's short, 
pithy letter to his friend?" asked Mr. 
Carlton. "'I was very sorry, and am 
very glad, because thou wast sick, and 
that thou art whole. Farewell ! ' Is it 
not akin to Csesar's ' Yeni, Yidi, Yici !' " 

"It is indeed," replied Mr. Graham. 
"There is often great pith in a short 
sentence. I remember a biting contro- 
versial letter of Mr. Bright 's some years 
ago, which he closes with, ' Yours, with 
whatever respect is due you.' " 

"An oracular close one must be a 
pachyderm to bear, " replied cousin Harry. 

"the late Duke of Wellington," said 
Auntie, " is reported to have answered 
every letter that ever was addressed him. 
Something that very few, even in private 
life, can say. I have several friends, 
though, who have preserved and filed away 
every one ever addressed to them, though I 
doubt very much whether all were en- 
dorsed ' answered.' One of these friends 
going abroad recently, with an impression 
she might never return, sat down and 
read every word of every one of them re- 
ligiously, before committing them to the 
flames. What a review of life it must 



have been. I have other friends (I speak 
this as a warning), v/ho, on the eve of 
marriage, burned all their treasured let- 
ters, and their journals, that they might 
not reach the eye of the husband they 
were taking unto themselves, who after- 
wards repented it bitterly. Not in any 
case that there was anything the "mar- 
ried eyes " might not look upon, but lo 
gratify a morbid desire, to sacrifice upon 
the altar of matrimony, their cherished 
treasures. How much more worthy of a 
noble husband, was Lady Morgan's gath- 
ering her letters all into packages, and 
endorsing them, 'Truth,' 'Love,' and 
'Folly.' The covering wrapper bearing 
the date, and this memorandum : ' This 
whole farrago, I lay at the feet of my dear 
husband, with whom love began, folly 
ended, and youth has already passed 
away, in the enjoyment of the purest hap- 
piness.' " 

" Beautiful, " exclaimed the Black 
Knight. "The young ladies who turned 
Iconoclasts, with the horror of their hus- 
bands rifling their cherished treasures, 
could scarcely have the ' perfect love that 
casteth out fear,' or the trust in the honor 
of their husbands, that makes love beau- 
tiful." 

"Oh!" cried I, "not necessarily. It 
might have been, from a desire to show 
everything, not from fear of the request 
being enforced. And it might be the 
auto-de-fe of the journals was simply to 
spare their blushes, over their crudities 



147 



and juvenilities. And yet, thoua;li I have 
instiLuted myself Apologist and Defender, 
1 p r el er Lady Morgan's 'more excellent 
way.'" 

" Lady Morgan was a very clever letter- 
writer," said Auntie, "and when too 
busy to write, instead of delaying to ac- 
knowledge letters, would drop the line, 
'I am well and you are remembered.' 
I remember an amusing letter of Sir 
•Jonah Barrington to her, in which he 
says : *" Fate, alas ! my grand climacteric 
is in view, my j^ears are beginning to out- 
number my enjoyments, and abominable 
Fifty tells me I cannot afford to lose a 
single pleasure, and your letter was a 
substantial one.' Her love letters were 
especially racy, and she was unspeakably 
happy in her love. A surprise to her, as 
she wrote Mr. Lefranc: " Hitherto I have 
pertinaciously adhered to the persuasion, 
that kindred spirits were subjected to the 
same laws as parallel lines, and never 
could meet on this ungracious planet." 
She was loved with a perfect love, the 
same to-day, yesterday, and to-morrow, 
she says, adding, "I can give no other no- 
tice of my existence than that miraculous 
one of a man desperately in love with his 
own wife.' Lord Morgan said one of 
her love-letters was so like the Epistle of 
Jude, it would do for any Church, calling 
forth the exclamation from him, 'Well, 
the gods take care of Cato. ' ' I remember 
once hearing a gentleman say one of his 
wife's at the same epoch was like a law- 



yer's brief. It must be intense feeling, 
and realization of the solemnity of the 
step, that gives this tone in view of 
it." 

" Margaret Fuller Ossoli,"' said Cousin 
Kate, " used to put on a selected gem to 
write letters to certain friends. One of 
her friends she coupled with the onyx ; 
another, in a decided way, with the ame- 
thyst. To another she always wrote with 
a carbuncle bracelet on her arm. When 
in Italy she had over a hundred corres- 
pondents, and used to devote one day of 
every week to them. To some friends she 
wrote everyday, saying, I think less than 
a daily ofieiing of thought and feeling 
would not content me, so much seems to 
pass unspoken. Did you ever see her 
letter to her patron saint, S. Beethoven? 
It is rarely beautiful." 

"I would such letters could drip from 
my pen," said Constance, " I'd shed my 
last drop of ink on their lines. I suppose 
you would all forswear me, should I don 
the 'red cap of authorship,' or the '6as 
hleu^ of literature, and yet my 'sense 
might cover the color. ' Even Jeffrey said, 
' There is no objection to the Blue Stock- 
ing, provided the petticoat comes low 
enough to cover it. ' As usual, there is 
a come down to this fancy waltz. I see 
dear Auntie's soft eyes dilate with won- 
der, as if I were a Quaker gone delirious. 
So I return to 'plain living and high 
thinking, ' content for the rest of my da,js 
to dance steadily to the song of the broom 



148 



and brush, to find in them most consola- 
tory companionship." 

''You read not my eyes aright," re- 
turned Auntie, " I never yet advocated 
clipping the wings of any bird. If you 
are ' good for some gay soarings,' soar." 

"As Artemas Ward said," laughed 
Cousin Harry. '' ' If the American Eagle 
can solace herself in that way, let her 
went.' " 

' ' Thanks ! thanks ! I already feel my 
plumage growing. Dost see the wings? 
Repression alone has hindered their 
growth. Now will I give to you Grapes 
of Eschol, the pleasant valley in the prom- 



ised land. Behold me, transformed as 
with magic wand, into a strong man 
armed intellectually. Only let ail lovers 
who come to woo beware, for I think it 
was B3'ron who said, ' The only rhyme 
for intellectual is hen-peck-u-all." 

Truly there is a " beauty of plainness," 
for as Constance rung her merry changes, 
she was almost transfigured. Mr. Graham 
sat like one entranced by the music of the 
joy peals from the '' belfrey of her heart." 
Many felicities and jeu- de-mots sparkled 
and glowed before we separated, but I am 
growing too sleepy to pick up the "crumbs 
of their animated conversation." 



149 



CHAPTER XIV. 



Friday, February 20th. Wednesday, 
being Ash- Wednesday, we are to keep 
hiq;h carnival on Monday, and Tuesday, 
of next week. Not that we do not know 
the heathen origin of its customs, but 
that we love gaieiy, fun and jollity, and 
everything in the way of amusement, con- 
tributes to that pure end, in our quiet, se- 
questered life. With full quorum in 
council, we decided to enact the merry 
comedy of "The Carnival Ball," on Mon- 
day evening, not liking to carry jollity to 
the very stroke of the Lenten hour, as most 
carnival keepers do. You will not won- 
der, dear Familiar, remembering the thea- 
tricals, and tableaux, of the month torn from 
this record, that the suggestion struck a 
key, to which each heart vibrated, and 
the "aye verily," went up as one voice 
from the concordant club. Shrove-Tues- 
day, we said, we will keep quietly as a 
vigil, for so we are taught to do, but 
Monday, we will be very merry. Not, dear 
Familiar, that we have forgotten, or have 
neglected the voice of the season, since 
Septuagesima Sunday began to sound the 
approach of the days oi mourninir, and in 
obedience, we laid aside our Christmas 
decorations, and in our prayers made 
mention of preparation for deep solemni- 



ties, but that in our outward lives there 
has been little note of it. How little do 
those about us, even those nearest and 
dearest to us, those most closely linked 
and associated with our lives, know of 
what is passing in our souls and inner 
lives. Not that we are any of us what 
would be called secretive persons, but in 
our mysterious natures the deepest, most 
sacred and dearest parts of our thought, 
and life are rarely shown, save to God 
alone. It is appalling, to reflect how little 
we know of what is passing in the souls 
of even those nearest to us. We may 
mingle together in the most intimate re- 
lations, and seem to share each others' 
lives by day, and night, and yet in each 
soul, there may be an under current, surg- 
ing, and swelling, almost to the drowning 
of every other thought and feeling, of 
which the external life and conversation 
gives no sign. Any day, we may pipe our 
merriest songs, to a sorely aching heart, 
or pour a wail of agony, into one almost 
bursting with gladness. What revelations 
there will be, when the secrets of all hearts 
shall be revealed, and we "know even 
as we are known." 

But how far adrift from my moorings, 
I have floated on the stream of reflection. 



150 



Throw out the anchor, Kebecca, in the 
*'IIoly Present," and unfold its tale, in- 
stead of moralizing, soliloquizing and 
apostrophizing unknown quantities, and 
qualities. 

We have always merry times preparing 
for our miaiic stage. Do you remember 
the merry pantomimes of January, dear 
Familiar, that were so rich in fun and 
frolic, and which were so abundantly sug- 
gestive to the children that ever since 
pantomime has been their chosen pleas- 
ure. A taste, strengthened perhaps by the 
stories I have told them, of Mad. de Gen- 
lis' childhood, whose evenings were al- 
ways devoted, to playing at pantomime 
with her brother in the drawing room. I 
made myself a target for the merry shots 
of all, one evening in the early winter I 
remember, by averring that ever since 
reading of these pantomimic plays they 
had stood in my mind, as models of 
amusement for children. Tiiis announce- 
ment, uttered with the most quiet air of 
innocent wisdom, was greeted with a 
merry shout, and a rechauffe of the oft re- 
peated proverbs, concerning Old Maid's 
Children. I stood my ground, deter- 
mined not to beat retreat, and through 
practical illustration of its success with 
the children of the household, stand now 
master and mistress of the situation, en- 
dangering the foundations of the other 
proverb, that "discreet retreat is the 
better part of valor." And so the child- 
hood of Madame de Genlis, has shed a 



blessing, upon the childhood of these 
Babes in the Woods. " How far a little 
candle throws its rays," the radiance of a 
happy thought, or way, or deed, may ex- 
tend all unconsciously to the ends of the 
earth. Let us cast all the pebbles of joy 
we can gather, into the lives around us, 
remembering their inspiring influence 
goes on, and on, in ever widening circles, 
as we have often watched the circles widen 
when we have cast pebbles into wayside 
brooks. Many a play have I arranged for 
these dear children this winter, but not 
as yet have they carried the passion so 
far as did Madame de Genlis, nee Mile 
Ducrest, who wore the costume in which 
she personated "Love " for nine months, 
never going out without her quiver upon 
her back, and a bow in her hand. And 
afterwards succeeding to admiration, in 
personating a male character, she wore 
the attire until her eleventh year. Her 
principal occupation through these years 
being the rehearsal of parts, for the fetes 
constantly given by her mother, Madame 
Ducrest. Children never weary of listen- 
ing to stories of her life, because it 
sparkled with gaiety, amusement, and 
frolic, wherever she went in her light- 
heartedness. I often go into the school- 
room and relieve cousin Kate, and the 
hours I spend there are always pleasant 
ones. This Model Mother, has studied 
thoroughly the Kindergarten system, 
through manuals and aids, imported from 
England and Germany, and has provided 



151 



the school-room, with the requisite para- 
phernalia for carrying it out, making it 
a very paradise for children, with its 
"gifts," and appliances. Cousin Kate 
illustrates the theory, that in the degree 
in which one develops goodness, and abil- 
ity in oneself, one succeeds in calling 
them out in children. Never was there 
a happier band of children than those of 
this household. No day long enough to 
hold all their busy projects. Frederika 
Bremer exclaims, '■' Let no one say, ' it is 
no matter what song is sung by the 
child's cradle,' it sounds through his 
whole life. ' ' On the wall , amid the beau- 
tiful pencilings of the mother's own hand, 
is an exquisitely illuminated copy of 
'^The Mother's Prayer," which I will 
copy for you. 

" Up to me sweet childhood looketh, 
Heart and mind, and soul awake, 
Teach me of Thy ways, O Father, 
For sweet childhood's sake. 

" In their young hearts, soft and tender, 
Guide my hand good seed to sow, 
That its blossoming- may praise Thee, 
Wheresoe'er they go. 

"Give to me a cheerful spirit. 
That my little flock may see, 
It is good and pleasant service 
To be taught of Thee. 

'' Father, order all my footsteps, 
So direct my daily way, 
That in following me, the children 
May not go astray. 



" Let Thy holy counsel lead me, 
Let Thy li^ht before me shine, 
That they may not stumble over, 
Word or deed of mine. 

'' Draw us hand in hand to Jesu3, 
For His word's sake unforgot, 
' Let the little ones come to me, 
And forbid them not.' " 

I often think in the school-room of 
Madame de Genlis' words concerning her 
governess. Mile, de Mars. " It was not a 
learned instructress, who loaded me with 
grave lessons, but a young girl of seven- 
teen, full of candor, innocence and piety, 
who confided to me all her thoughts, and 
transferred to my heart all the sentiments 
of her own." So dear Cousin Kate often 
seems to me, to be graving as with the 
point of a diamond, upon these fair young 
souls ; or like an artist, regarding their 
souls as a great canvas spread before her, 
selecting the colors upon her palette, 
and laying them on, with the greatest care 
and skill. 

The Memoirs of Mad. de Genlis have 
made her very real to me, and 1 number 
her among my chosen acquain1;ances. 
Often when recording an evening's en- 
tertainment for you, dear Familiar, I am 
reminded of her words, when similarly 
employed. It is not without reflection 
that I enter into all these little details ; 
they will perhaps be useful to the young 
women who may hereafter read this 
work. I wish them to understand that 
youth is only happy, when it is amiable ; 



152 



that is to say, when the young are docile, 
modest, and attentive to all, and that the 
principal duty of a young person, is to be 
pleasing in the circle of her own family, 
and to diffuse among its members, gayety, 
amusement and joy. When in the most 
brilliant part of their existence, we find 
instances among the young of the con- 
trary, we may be sure they are always 
blameable. If we examine the characters 
and habits, of young females, who are in- 
sipid or tiresome, we shall generally find 
them indolent, lazy and selfish, thinking 
only of themselves, and never of others. 
These girls who are thus destitute of the 
graces of youth, are consequently without 
its mildness, wud its modesty; they are 
possessed with a puerile, and passive 
vanity, that renders them disgusted with 
the counsels of experience, which they 
always regard as reprimands. They are 
ciphers in society, because no one can be 
either useful to them, nor experience on 
their part, any of the agreeable attentions, 
which one expects from good company. 
My sister-in-law had no talents, and her 
understanding was far from brilliant ; 
nevertheless, she was by no means in- 
sipid. She loved employment, and was 
never idle ; she was obliging, and always 
took part in the gayety and the amuse- 
ments of others ; and this is what may be 
expected from every young person, even 
those whose education has been the most 
neglected. 

I often recall, too, vividly as if she had 



spoken it in my ear, her saying : "How 1 
pity those who have no love of reading, 
of study or of the fine arts. ' ' I have passed 
my youth amidst amusements, and in the 
most brilliant society, but I can assert 
with perfect truth, that I have never 
tasted pleasures so true, as those I have 
found in the study of books, in writing, or 
in music. The days that succeed the 
most brilliant entertainments, are always 
melancholy, but those which follow days 
of study, are delicious. We have gained 
something, we have acquired some new 
knowledge, and we recall the past day, 
not only without regret, but with con- 
summate satisfaction. 

Mad. de Genlis is one of Cousin Kate's 
models as an educator. She has studied 
her plans of education, as developed in 
her training of the young princes and 
princesses, (for she not only had charge of 
the twin daughters of the Duchess of 
Chartres, but also of her three sons, the 
Duke of Yalois, the Duke of Montpensier 
and the Duke of Beaujolais). Her expe- 
rience has been of great value to in- 
structors. She was the first, who adopted 
the custom, now so largely practiced, of 
teaching children the living languages by 
means of talking them. She engaged a 
German gardener, who never spoke to 
them but in German. He accompanied 
them along with their German valet de 
chamhre in their morning walks, and on 
these occasions, German was the only 
languasre used. In their evening walks 



153 



they spoke English, as well as at dinner, 
and they supped in Italian. To interest 
them, she arrang ;d in scenes, and had 
them act in the garden, the most cele- 
brated voyages, also historical, and myth- 
ological tableaux. In these Cousin Kate 
has followed her leading most success- 
fully, and we are often bidden to witness 
some of their scenes, tableaux and dramas*, 
and so far from sacrilicing ourselves, as 
we supposed we were called upon to do 
at first, we find them thick "sown with 
profit and delight." And now that the 
Knii^bts of the Glen, have come to be at- 
taches, and auxiliaries of the House, they 
claim as a great privilege, the being 
bidden to these lovely representations. 
She follow^; Mad. de Genlis too, very 
much in her ideas of amusements, and 
recreations, nearly all of which are use- 
ful. The young princes acquired succes- 
sively knowledge of several trades, and 
Mad. de Genlis with them — those not 
requiring strength, such as portfolio and 
pocket-book making, and basket making, 
&c. They also learned cabinet making. 
These employments took nothing from 
the hours of study ; it was their only 
kind of amusement, and never were chil- 
dren more happy, during the whole p'eriod 
of their education. 

I have wandered far, dear Familiar, 
from the "Carnival Ball;" but by this 
time, you have become accustomed to my 
habit, of being carried away by the rush 
of " thick coming fancies." I will tell you 



all the story when our masquerading is 
over, till when, I shall be "busy as a 
witch in a storm," preparing for my 
role. As I write, t hear Theodora prac- 
ticing tlie delicious music of " The Carni- 
val of Venice," with Mr. Montague's 
violin accompaniment, and cousin Harry's 
flute, for the gnuide, orchestral opening 
fl )urish of trumpets Monday night. We 
shall continue our weekly JIusicales, which 
I described to you last month, through 
Lent, presuming upon the good taste of 
the coterie, for quiet selections. Our old 
pew-opener used to say of the organist, 
"Ah! but she does play such gaudy 
tunes upon the organ." I do not think 
there is one of our " tuneful nightingales " 
who could do such a thing, or waken un- 
seasonable strains. 

I do not remember, whether I told you 
this evening was set apart as a Charles 
Lamb evening. It passed off most de- 
lightfully, and Lambily, to borrow from 
Lambpunia, though we most certainly 
did not Lamb pun him. Cousin Harry 
as usual was the reader, though he was 
most willing to voice whatever selection 
was called for. Of course some of the es- 
says of Ella came first. The Black 
Knight, repeating by way of Prologue, 
Willis ' saying, that the greatest compli- 
ment he could pay to the taste of a friend 
was to present him with a copy of Elia. 
Never did a little company enjoy their 
delicious humor more. A genial glow seem- 
ed to radiate from the very covers of the 



154 



book, causing us almost to feel the wine 
of his loving presence, as it used to he 
said, when he was present, " if we had no 
wine, the sensation of wine was there." 
Unlike the person, of whom he said, "His 
presence, even if he said nothing, diluted 
the Conversation." From these charming 
essays, and their sweet revealings, he 
turned to Talfourd's Collection of Me- 
morials of his Life and Letters, reading 
therefrom passages breathing the very 
spirit of his sweet philosophy. Lamb 
said, " It would sweeten a man's temper 
at any time to read Izaak Walton's Com- 
plete Angler," and I think his own life 
and letters would prove as good a sweet- 
ener. Through all the sadness of his most 
pathetic life, he moved on, sweet, genial and 
loving, exercising the rare gift of extract- 
ing sweetness from everything with which 
he came in contact. It has been asked, 
can you bring blood from a stone ? Lamb 
certainly had the rare faculty of drawing 
pleasure, from the merest pebble at his 
foot. His Lamby jokes are always of delic- 
ious flavor and savor. Such a man should 
never die, but be handed down from gen- 
eration to generation unassailable. Every 
wind tempered for the shorn Lambs. 
Cousin Kate had stretched a strip of can- 
vas across the salon, bearing the famous 
inscription, "Leg of Lamb as before— 
not at four —and the heart of Lamb ever. " 
His very whimsies are pleasant and dear 
as those of a child. We enjoyed particu- 
larly Mary Lamb's descriptions, in her let- 



ters, of their "what-we-do existence." 
Their very names, carry a perfame in the 
mention, and I am glad, that gleaners en- 
tered into the fields, reaped by Talfourd, 
and gleaned after him, and gathered the 
fruits of their labor, into a volume of Eli- 
ania, and glad too that Ilazlitt gleaned after 
the gleaners and gave us his new volume of 
Laraby pleasantries. Mrs. Barbauld said, 
' ' He was the only writer who made her 
laugh and cry at the same time," and in 
this rare mingling of pathos, and humor, 
lies his irresistible charm. How beauti- 
ful was the expression of my mirror of 
Knighthood, when he repeated, as among 
his favorite jeux-de-mots, '* Books are to 
me instead of friends, I wish they did not 
resemble the former in scarceness," and, 
"He is on the top-scale of my Friendship 
ladder, on which an angel or two is still 
climbing, and some alas descending." He 
said long as he had been a Lamb-worshiper, 
one passage had never struck him, until 
his familiarity with Montgomery House 
illumined it, and he now, had embalmed it 
in memory, as a rare bit of wisdom. 
' ' Ther€ is a monotony, in the affection 
which people living together are apt to 
give into — a sort of indifference in the 
expression of kindness for each other, 
which demands that we should sometiii-es 
call to our aid the trickery of surprise." 
Unexpected pleasures, he said, seem to 
spring up spontaneously in the w^ays of 
this household, as if the art of surprise 
were the study of the presiding divinities. 



155 



Its quick coming festivals, he added, 
preach eloquently of the holiness of holi- 
days, and I give my cordial allegiance to 
the philosophy. I wish I could record 
the entire conversation, as it was indeed 
charming as that of a veritaole nodes 
Amhrosiance. Every one was in most 
" talky mood," and the subject, bait for 
all, giving rise to most exciting conversa- 
tional tilts, and '• unanswerable answers. " 
As I listened and joined, I thought, this 
evening I shall carve for dear Familiar, a 
"dish fit for the gods, "but alas, as of old, 
I am obliged to acknowledge, my plans 
are still projects, and though the pleasant 
theme is on the anvil, I am not in the hu- 
mor for striking while it is hot, even while 
feeling it pleasant to serve one servable 
as are you, good listener. Truth to tell, 
for you always draw from me each hid- 
den reason, the stage darkened, and the 
curtain fell on a tete-a-tete with the belov- 
ed, and all present interest is merged, in 
the glow of that lovely talk. We are to 
be married at Easter. I had no thought 
< 'f so soon bowing my head to the yoke, but 
when I rebelled, anJ ho replied, '-My heart 
is in the hands of the daughter of Cathay. 
I could as soon live without breath, as 
to continue to live without her." What 
could I do, but to confess it might be 
written of me, " My tears are not at my 
command, nor my smi'es. My tears flow 
from the fount of thy sorrows, and my 
smiles are the beams from thy joys. 
For know, O 1 Black Knight, that Rebecca 



is thy earthly Fylgia. Thy fate, and her 
late, are as one, and vainly as man would 
escape from his shadow, would soul- 
wrench itself from the soul, that Hulda 
has linked to his doom." 

Oh I the sweet things he said ! Dost 
wonder I cannot write of the beautiful 
Charles Lamb evening ? 

{Saturday, February 21st. I went to 
sleep with pleasant thoughts singing 
through brain and heart, making " music 
at midnight " for me. Glad antiphonals 
echoed from heart and brain, and the 
burden of their glad repetitions were, 
'^she that is loved is safe, and he that 
loves is joyful," and, "nothing can 
sweeten even feUcity itself but love." I 
wish I could describe to you dear Famil- 
iar, my knighthood's chosen as he is 
photographed on my heart. I have tried 
to portray his handsome person, and noble 
presence, but his beautiful inner life, can- 
not be put into words, and still less the 
subtle, mysterious way, in which he acts, 
and reacts upon me. His influence is 
unlike any that I ever before experienced, 
pure, exalting, refined. I remember, long 
ago, reading a subtle description of a 
friend, that comes to me now, as the very 
embodiment of my thought of him. "No- 
where is gold found at a higher percent- 
age of purity than in his heart. All his 
life he has been conversing with the great 
and beautiful thinkers, to whom our mys- 
terious double nature was a beloved study. 
With him, the spirit of all things, is as 



15G 



much a felt prescucc, as their c^ross em- 
bodiment is to material men. By partici- 
pation with his thought, and sympathy, 
I somehow gradually draw in an injected 
energy. An interest in the world, lor the 
f ake of the inner essence which it em- 
bodies, penetrating deeper than the 
shard of things." With him, as I said 
before of those of this household, " I seem 
to take off the body, and sit in the 
soul." 

There is a dear little cottage under the 
very shadow of this homestead, and very 
sweet was it to hear from the dear lips, that 
the shadow of these very trees will "fall 
on my husband's home." TFc, also, will 
live m Arcadia ! We explored it enfamille 
this morning, and found it most delight- 
ful. Perfectly simple, but perfectly com- 
fortable. We entered it singing. "We've 
not proud or soaring wings, our ambition 
lies in little things." How the dear 
sheeling rang with witty, harmless jokes, 
cracking nobody's head, but everybody's 
side. Constance was in her merriest 
mood, and constituted herself ' ' our bard, 
our blithe historian," the ever welcome 
minstrel, striking the wood of joy, the 
family harper. Oh, but she was the very 
impersonation of a tricksey spirit of mis- 
chief, as she made herself the "Homer of 
my Trojan Fall" into the hands of a 
stranger knight, ' ' setting the mishap to 
music," by her pleasant telling it, calling 
the high sounding story, "the sparkling 
Iliad of Rebecca's woes I" Was there 



ever such another gleeful spirit sent sing- 
ing through the world. 

"Come friends," said she, "sweet 
friends, walk into this lordly pleasure 
house I Sometime ' Castle of Indolence,' 
now temple of love. Who ever would see 
'love in a cottage.' This way ! this wayl 
Come this way I I know not what Lares 
and Penates, Rabecca will gather around 
her Black Knight, who is the nucleus, 
about whom she trusts to collect her 
household gods, but I wirn you, Mr. 
Mortimer, instead of bringing family dia- 
monds, and family plate, she will bring 
her lovely cousins, as did Cornelia of 
Gracchi memory, her children. She will 
gather them about her, and presenting 
them proudly, sav, ea mea oraamenta, 
' these are my jewels.' Imagine yourself 
Sir Knight, b decked with these sparkling 
gems, inalienable jewels, going out for a 
bridal walk, a neighborly call, a drive, or 
Church pilgrimage, wiih a cousin before 
and a coutia behind. Cousins to right of 
you, cousins to left of you, volleying and 
thundering. Does it not make your heart 
' go pita-pat ' as you picture yourself a la 
Cousin Harry begirt with smiling cousins I 
Ah ! you are braver than I thought. The 
world's heroes are not yet all numbered 
with the past, else would not this man of 
ebony, have dared to enter our ' house- 
hold of stranded women,' and choose 
among so many substantives of feminine 
gender, singular number, with the fact, 
staring him in the face in Montgomery 



Hoase experience, that he is marryino^ 
the whole family. A second Traddles ! 
Is there room for all the dear girls, and 
the dearest girl in the world ? There is 
time even yet to retract. Pause, while 
yet the door of escape is ajar, and say, 
' Gentle Eve, I will none of your apple.' 

"Perhaps it is a bad omen to have the 
spirit of Jeremiah, sweep through the 
house at its christening, so let us pipe a 
merry strain, and dance to its measures, 
until we warm the cantiecot." 

And away we all skimmed, keeping 
time to the lively catch she started, and 
we caught up. Round and round the 
rooms, in and out the doors. Up the 
middle, down the middle, skirry, skirry- 
iug away, into odd corners, into the 
kitchen, up stairs and down, and round 
and round the house. A chorus of laugh- 
ter winding up each "pigeon wing," and 
tarantula, until we were all fain to sink 
upon the floor from exhaustion. Then 
we had a lovely time planning how taste- 
fully, cosily, and inexpensively, we could 
fit up the house. Of course, it is to be only 
a temporary home in the wilderness, from 
which the '"'tenting pin of the pavilion " 
is to be loosed, when we have made our 
fortune. " Oh I picture it, think of it," 
exclaimed Constance. " In these rooms, 
for years, Rebecca will go spinning round 
like a teetotum, to the song of the broom 
and the brush, ever and anon whisking 
out to the Temple of the Cuisine, and 
taking up the refrain, ' Polly put the 



kettle on I tho kettle on ! and we'll all 
take tea!' Ah! but she will be the very 
Lady Abbess of Hospitality, and we shall 
be allowed, like ' ants in a hillock, to run 
in and out. AVet boots may come in, and 
the ink drop may fall,' for the home of 
Rebecca is Liberty Hall. Mr. Mortimer 
will never learn the^ ' trick of the knitted 
brow,' but descant gracefully upon the 
art of hospitality, and swing the snow- 
shovel in our honor, to keep the path free 
from Montgomery Place. Speed on, happy 
hours ! ' Fly swiftly round, ye wheels of 
time. ' My mouth waters for the spark- 
ling cheer, and well-seasoned viands, and 
hopes of lengthened enjoyment, are long 
as pumpkin vines, and savory as the fruit 
thereof, when made into nonpareil pies, in 
gracious grandmother ways. Oh ! what 
'lengthened sweetness long drawn out,' 
will be our visits. Few, Mr. Mortimer, 
have so many gorgeous satellites to fol- 
low them home ; so many companions for 
life. I am told the tastes of husband and 
wife assimilate, and believe that soon our 
cousinly visages, will be as beautiful 
adornments in your eyes as in hers. She 
proverbially seeks, and finds, her ideal of 
beauty, in the homeliest faces, and can 
number in her heart's gallery, some which 
only a Cruikshank could delineate. Oh I 
but this is the very 'house that Jack 
built ' for us all. Let's choose our rooms, 
our windows, our seats at table, and by 
the hearthstone, alias register stone. And 
away over the house we flew again, " up 



158 



stairs, down stairs, and in the lady's 
chamber." 

The jewel of a Knight was in glorious 
spirits, and ready to run a tilt with any 
one. Doing the honors of the Castle 
Beautiful, with most chivalric grace and 
courtesy. I was rather quiet, but deeply 
happy, for indeed it would be but "cold, 
and barren gratitude,* to stifle in our 
hearts the holy gladness," but visions, 
housewifely visions, were dancing in 
quick succession through my brain, and 
while others were cracking their jokes, I 
was reflecting that if the empty cot was 
to be transformc;d into a Home, I must be 
cracking household nuts speedily, like a 
fairy godmother, and be ready to play 
high priestess. So during their merry go 
rounds, I was planning curtains, and car- 
pets, happy as the Duchess of Wonder- 
land herself, binding my beautiful plans, 
like joy-sheaves, to carry home for execu- 
tion. Oh I I was happy as a queen, plant- 
ing roots of projects at every turn, that 
should blossom out in pretty adjuncts, and 
concomitants of home. Auntie, how su- 
perbly she looked and moved. Truly 
"her autumn surpasses the spring of 
most women." The Black Knight and 
I after a time, left the merry-makers, and 
made a tour preliminary, and topographi- 
cal, that he might carry the outline with 
him, as the canvas bright, on which to 
picture the home, and aid me with exact 
measurements. 

After the exploration we joined the 



others, who were merrily weaving sp.^lls 
and charms, about the " cantiecot." "We 
have sung a song in every room in the 
house," said Theodora, " cracked a joke 
in every corner, dropped a blessing in 
each doorway, -said in each window, 
honeycomb speeches, and hon bon verses, 
banished the gloom fairies, exorcised evil 
spirits, cut down the vinegar bushes, and 
were seriously thinking, of going through 
the ceremony of enkindling the fire upon 
the hearth, when your return diverted 
us." 

"I brought from home," said Cousin 
Kate, " a piece of bread for each to eat, 
in accordance with the German rule 
which saith, eat a piece of bread from 
home first in a strange house, that will 
kill all strangeness." 

We each took the ofiered piece, and ate 
with great heartiness, while the merry 
band joined hands, and sang, and danced 
around us. 

"We claim the privilege of assisting 
at the kindling of the fire, "said Mr. Mon- 
tague. "Do you remember the pretty 
ceremonial of extinguishing it upon a 
hearthstone in ' On tlie Heights.' " 

"I cannot recall it, do give it to us," 
quickly replied Theodora. 

"Extinguishing the fire on leaving 
their old home, the mother scooped some 
water out of the tub, and poured it into 
the fire, with these words, ' May every- 
thing bad and evil be thus poured out and 
extinguished, and may those who kindle a 



159 



fire after us, find nothing but prosperity in 
their home.' After each member of the 
family had gone through the ceremony, 
the mother prayed aloud, ' So take from 
us. Lord our God, all heartache, and all 
homesickness, and all discord, and give 
us health, and a happy home where we 
next kindle our fire." 

* ' I am so glad you are to be transplanted 
in the spring. One takes root better 
then," said Auntie. " That is the theory 
of Mr. Graham's contentment, I believe." 

"Yes," he replied, '-'and I am also 
more than ever convinced that there's no 
wisdom like the ' trick of choosing a new 
harness when the old one galls.' " 

"All this makes me envious," said Mr. 
Carlton. " I too, am thirsty for such an 
overflowing cup of joy." 

"And I am growing covetous," ex- 
claimed Mr. Montague, "of such gardens 
of delight, chambers of rest, galleries of 
pictures, and wells of water. Bethink 
you happy pair, of the sins you are mak- 
ing us commit. Envy, and covetousness, 
are among the seven deadly ones." 

" Do not lay them at our door, I beg," 
cried Mr. Mortimer. " We want nothing 
to hinder us from growing rich, in that 
which never taketh rust." 

"I can see no reason," said Cousin 
Harry, "why your hearts should not, 
like Chaucer's lovers, be 'bathed in a 
bath of bliss. ' " 

" It is always beautiful to watch a new 
home built up," said Cousin Kate. 



" May this fair Priestess always keep the 
flame alight, and burning on this altar. 
A poet called the house of Sophia de la 
Roche, a temple of Euphrosyne, where 
the pious sacrifice-flame was always 
lighted." 

"I look forward," said the Black 
Knight, "to living out a fairy tale, a pas- 
toral poem here." 

" Oaly," I whispered, "I fear you ex- 
alt my capacities tor making you happy, 
beyond what I possess. Nevertheless, I 
can see nothing but roses blooming in 
home and heart." 

"Ko more can I, Sweet Brier Barbara," 
returned he, playfully and fondly. 

"Love is the key that unlocks all joys," 
continued he, " and that key we have. I 
shall not mind how the path lies, but 
count it all joy, if only you tread it beside 
me, and with me, Barbara, mia /" 

"Home's not merely roof and room," 
said Auntie. " Home is where there's 
one to love us. Home is where there's 
one to love !" 

"I have already," laughed Constance, 
"enshrined Rebecca as the soul of the 
Home, and in my mind's eye, cousins, see 
her trimming her lamp for her lover — 
spreading his board, and applying molli- 
fying ointment, to all the scratches he 
receives on the way. And I have been 
well nigh lost, in thoughtful reminiscens- 
ing, as to how she will look, figuring up 
weekly accounts, when all we Galatians 
swoop down upon her, with noise worse 



160 



than the diu of bagpipe and kettle, and 
double her bills all around." 

"It seems as if every corner knew her 
already," said the knicjhtliest of knights, 
"and was smiling welcome, and bowing 
lovingly, as to a long-expected, longed-for 
comer. An entirely different atmosphere 
pervades it, from the one in which I stood 
within yesterday, feeling the Home all 
too poor to offer her. The coideur de ro^e 
hue in which it is robed cow, must all 
radiate from her." 

"Thanks," I whispered, "I seem to 
hear a joy-peal chiming from window, and 
casement, from garret, and basement. 
Yes, we know you, we've watched, and 
we've waited, and love you." 

" Oh 1 who will steer Its to such Fortu- 
nate Isles ?" sang Constance. 

"I wonder if it will seem strange to 
me at first," I ventured. 

And Auntie replied : 

"Jean Paul says, 'If you go into a 
strange dwelling, and it does not seem 
homelike, go to work at once, and it will 
become so."' 

"I am afraid," resumed I, "the bread 
may sometimes be sour, and the viands 
underdone, and thus spoil the rhyme of 
the poem." 

"Never mind, Mignonne," said the 
best one ; '' I have adopted the sentiment, 
' To be seated at the same table with you, 
I would eat pebbles and seaweed.' " 

" Thanks, Prince Charming of the fairy 
tale," I replied ; "but is it not because 



you see everything relating to the little 
menage, through glorification glasses ?" 

"Children see fairies in flies, and are 
faultlessly happy ,' ' he returned. ' ' If you 
stand transfigured by Love, so will you 
always stand, now and forever. I confess 
there is an Arabian Kight-like charm over 
everything — ' O let me be awake my Lord, 
or let me sleep alway! ' " 

"Do you not think she will sigh for the 
Benjamins left behind ?" queried Alice. 

"I thought they were all to follow. 
You forget Miss Constance forewarned 
me that* Cousins were Miss Rebecca's 
sine qua non,''^ he replied. 

"I am afraid," exclaimed Theodora, 
"you would 'dote on our very absence, 
and pray God grant us a fair departure. ' 
We believe but in one Cousin Harry." 

Just then, turning a key in a little 
closet, Mr. Mortimer revealed to our won- 
dering eyes a decanter and glasses. 

" By all the hokey-pokeys, he has called 
spirits from the vasty deep," exclaimed 
Mr. Montague. 

" Hearing of the intended exploration 
last night," he replied, " on my way to 
Montgomery House to escort you, I made 
the first deposit under the roof-tree, and 
now ask one and all, to pledge us fair, 
while I 'pass the rosy.' " 

"Here's Health, Wealth, Wit, and 
Meal !" said Auntie. 

"May the winds of Adversity never 
blow open your door," said Cousin Kate. 

Cousin Harry — "May the hinges of 



IGl 



Friendskip never rust, or the wings of 
Love lose a feather." 

Mr. Montague — "Mair friends and 
small need of them." 

Theodora — "May the moments of mirth 
ever be recorded on the dial of reason." 

Mr. Graham — "May the mouse never 
leave your meal chest with the tear in his 
eye." 

Constance, demurely — "Mair sense, 
and mair siller !" Oh, how we laughed, 
merrily as children. 

Mr. Carlton — "May you never want a 
friend, or a drappie to give him." 

Alice — ""When you're going up the hill 
of fortune, may you never meet a friend 
coming down." 

Bowin<? his head to me, the good Knisrht 
raised his glass, and I murmured, rev- 
erentlv, 

"God's Blessing!" 

"In which I join," said he, and every 
one drank it reverently. 

On the way home, we named the path 
to Montgomery House, Via Jocundissima^ 
leaving i he chosen cottage, "haunted by 



a choir of glorious ghosts ;" and this even- 
ing, the beloved brought the diagrams he 
had drafted from the measurements, for 
me to cover with gilded perspective. 

He lefu a package in my hand, and on 
going to my sanctum, I found it contained 
a most wonderfully beautiful set of Opal, 
brooch, earrings, necklace, and bracelet. 
The ring I liad already, and do you know, 
dear Pa-niliar, I have never yet dared 
turn it ii2;ht side roujd, it dazzles me so 
blindly, so beyond equanimic endurance. 
O, I tremble, as I realize he thinks he has 
won a model of perfection— a perfect Opal 
I — when I know myself to be such an "un- 
learned, unlessoned, unschooled child." 
I must tell him again of my imperfections 
— read over my chapter oi" faults to him. 
God forbid he should be disappointed — 
find me less than he dreams. No disap- 
pointment can be so great as that. "It 
is a fearful thing to take the happiness of 
another into our keeping," I learned par- 
rotwise long ago, but never apprehended 
it before, iiut why cloud the " holy pres- 
ent" with fears of the future ? " I dive 
for thee, the moment's pearl." 



162 



CHAPTER XV. 



Sunday, February 22d. Washington's 
Birthday, and a day all glory within and 
without. My heart was so filled with 
happiness, it seemed it would have burst, 
had i t not been Sunday. There are ' 'hours 
when the charged heart must speak, e'en 
in the desert's ear to pour itself, or break. ' ' 
The infinite, inexpressible relief, of pour- 
ing every inmost thought, into the all- 
loving heart of the All-Father, was sweet- 
er than words can portray, Indeed I 
longed to remain in Church, and pray — 
pray not for myself alone, but to " let out 
my soul in prayer" for all. Spend hours, 
on hours, in fervent intercessory prayer, 
rather than walk home with the beloved 
of my soul, and enjoy, heart to heart, soul 
to soul, communion with him. Oh I how 
fervently our prayers went up, when, for 
the first time, we knelt side by side, and 
asked the the Eternal Giver of all good 
gifts, "who giveth liberally and upbraid- 
eth not," to sanctify our love. 

As I sit here in my room dear Familiar, 
it is not possible any one could have been 
happier, since "God set the solitary in 
families." 

Monday evening, February 23d. I am 
but a tired child to-night, with tired head 
and hand, which can hardly pour forth 



anything but tired thoughts, and tired 
sentiments. "The Carnival Ball," pass- 
ed ofi" splendidly. For the first time we 
had bidden our city friends, and they are 
so kind as to say, it is long since they have 
had such a treat. And really I think 
myself, it was vastly entertaining. Con- 
stance, Alice, and Theodora, have each 
remarkable histrionic talent, and so have 
their knights errant. I am good at help- 
ing them, though I think my heart is too 
full of my own little drama to enact the 
sorrows and joys of others. The play is 
charming for such an evening, with its 
variety, spiciness, and humor. We had 
time, my Double and I, for many whis- 
pered words, in the interludes between 
our parts. Indeed I have a feeling all 
the time, as if I were being carried on, by 
billows of delight, on the great Ocean of 
Love. 

February 24th. A quiet, still day! — 
just as we intended it to be. The quiet 
preparation for entrance on the morrow. 

February 25th. Ash-Wednesday. The 
skies wept with us over our sins to-day, 
and put on garments of sackcloth. I heap 
my head with ashes, and bow in lowliest 
penitence. My God, my God, look upon 
me ! The Best One gave me a precious 



163 



package of books this moraiag. Sweet, 
blessed provisions for Lent. Except when 
in Church, morning and evening, we have 
each spent the day alone. With ashes on 
our brows, and solemn thoughts in our 
hearts. It was the Feast of the Conver- 
sion of St. Paul, as well, but the Festival 
was merged in the Fast. 

February 26th. My first beginnings in 
housewifeliness. I have been busy as a 
witch all day. Cutting off huge piles of 
snowy linen, with the help of willing 
hands, that seem to find poetry and delight 
in all they do for me. Piles of work have 
been sent out, and a beginning has really 
been made. 

Among the books dropped by the good 
Angel in ray path, yesterday, were the 
"Journal," and " Letters of Eugenie de 
Guerin," books I like exceedingly. Sweet 
and fragrant as May itself, filled with 
flowers of devotion, anyone who had them 
thoroughly rooted in their heart would be 
well-pleasing to God and the angels. She 
was indeed a devout and saintly maiden. 
This evening was set apart as an evening 
with the Saints— each one taking a favor- 
ite Saint, and setting forth his, or her per- 
fections, as well as the shortness of time 
allowed. 

Cousin Harry chose St. Patrick, and, 
after giving us a delightful sketch of Ire- 
land's Patron Saint, closed with his beau- 
tiful sequence : 

I bind myself to-day. 

The Power of God to fjuide me. 



The Might of G ^d to uphold me. 
The Wisdom of God to teach me. 
The Eye of God to watch over me. 
The Ear of God to hear me. 
The Word of God to give rac speech. 
The Hand of God to protect me. 
The Way of God to prevent me. 
The Shield of God to shelter me. 
The Host of God to defend me. 
Christ with me 1— Christ before me ! 
Christ behind me ! — Christ within me ! 
Christ at my Right 1— Christ at my Left I 

Cousin Kate. Blanche of Castile, that 
most tender mother and wise sovereign, 
who said she "would rather see all her 
children dead, than to know them to be 
guilty of one mortal sin." The worthy 
object of the romantic love of Thibaut of 
Champagne, the poet king, whose regency 
worthily ushered in the reign of St. Louis, 
the model king. 

Dear Auntie chose St. Yincent de Paul, 
founder of Missions, and Mission Priests, 
for which, like him, she makes an annual 
act of Thanksgiving, on the anniversary of 
the first Mission, January 25th ; the 
founder of Retreats, and of the wide- 
spread order of the Sisters of Charity. 
Her sympathies are not with cloistered 
work, but the active love that goes forth 
to bless 

Mr. Carlton. St. Dominic, de Guzman. 
The originator of the great idea of an or- 
der not cloistered, but wandering over 
the world to save souls, as preachers of 
the Faith. He said : " Were I a painter, 
I should choose for my subject, his first 



164 



meeting with Saint Francis of Assisium. 
Going to Kome to have his project con- 
firmed, he dreamed on the night of his 
arrival, of Christ preparing to strike the 
sinful world, and of himself, and another 
person, unknown to him, presented to ap- 
pease the wrath. The next day going 
into a Church, he saw there a man in 
tattered garments, whom he at once re- 
cognized as the companion of his dream. 
He instantly threw himself into his arms, 
saying, ' Thou art my brother, and dost 
run the same course with me, let us work 
together.' " From that moment, the two 
had but one heart, and one soul, and that 
mendicant was St. Francis of Assisium — 
the " glorious beggar of Christ." He es- 
tablished the Rosary, and about the same 
time 1240, the Ave Maria came into gen- 
eral use. 

Alice. Agnes of Bohemia, who refused 
the hand of Frederic TI, and that of the 
King of England, in order to become a 
Franciscan Kun, taking vows of abso- 
lute poverty. With a crown, and royal 
state within reach, counting all things 
but loss for the love of Christ. The Em- 
peror on hearing it, said, " If she had pre- 
ferred any other man to mc, I would have 
been revenged, but since she has pre- 
ferred only God, I can say nothing." 

Mr. Graham. St. Louis. In mine eye, 
the most accomplished personage of mod- 
ern times, transfigured by Christian love 
and devotion into a Saint, even while upon 
earth. Full of knightly chivalry, on his 



departure for the Holy Land, he was not 
ashamed to send mendicant monks 
throughout his kingdom, in order to in- 
quire of all, even the meanest of his sub- 
jects, if he had done them any wrong he 
could repair. The last of the Crusader 
Kings, he died murmuring : 6 Jerusalem I 
Jerusalem I His oratory and his tomb, 
the Holy Chapel, and St. Denis, are his 
monuments, both pure, and pointing 
heavenward like himself. But scarcely 
less fair in our memories stands the Oak 
of Yincennes. Think of his longing to 
steal away from his crown, and go and 
beg his bread like St. Francis. He went 
twice to Jerusalem, under the standard of 
the Cross, and barefoot to visit the Crowu 
of Thorns. 

Constance. Ethelreda, Queen of North- 
umbria, and neice of Hilda, Abbess of 
Whitby. I have visited the spot upon 
the isle of Ely, where she built a large 
Monastery, of which Wilfrid instituted 
her Abbess. She gave up her royal state, 
and the royal love of a kingly heart, to 
devote herself unreservedly to the service 
of God. Through the influence of Wil- 
frid, she obtained the charters that laid 
the foundation of the Sees of Peterbo- 
rough, and Ely. I climbed many a step, to 
study the beautifully sculptured capitals 
of the Cathedral of Ely, commemorative 
of her holy life, which even without them 
would have triumphed over time, and 
human forgetfulness. I always remem- 
ber her, and pray for grace to follow 



165 



her in all godly living, on her festival, the 
17 ih of October, longing for a life as 
fragrant of charity, and purity. 

Mr. Mortimer. St. Bernard. The most 
accomplished type of the religious. No 
other man has shed such glory upon the 
Orders. Deciding the fate of nations and 
crowns, influencing Europe, and rousing 
her by the mystery of the crusade, he was 
still a Saint, and devoted to tlie life of the 
Cloister. There is a grandeur and beauty 
in his life, to which my soul offers homage 
with all Christendom. A great man — A 
great orator — A great writer, he neither 
knew it, nor cared for it. 

Rebecca. Elizabeth of Hungary. She 
fills my ideal of a Saint, from the moment 
she is brought in her massive silver cradle, 
in a silken robe embroidered with gold, to 
the poetical Court of Thuringia, and her 
father yields her up to her betrothed say- 
ing, " I confide to thy Knightly honor my 
sweetest consolation," to her translation 
from her hospital pallet, perfect in saint- 
liness and beauty. Her seven beautiful 
years of married life, were a true type of 
Christian marriage, when at the call of 
the crusade, the supreme duty of freeing 
the Holy Sepulchre drew her idolized hus- 
band from her, to adorn himself with the 
flower of Christ, she laid aside her royal 
robes, and assumed the sad weeds of 
widow's mourning, which she was never 
to leave off. A desolate widow at 20, 
misfortunes followed fast and followed 
faster, 'till in the midst of the most cruel 



sacrifices, mortifications and sufferings, 
she died in the act of singing a hymn of 
joy, which the angels above were heard to 
repeat in welcome to her victorious soul. 
Montalembert's life of her, is a poem 
filled with flowers of charity, love and 
devotion. Her first act was an alms deed, 
her first word a prayer. 

Theodora. St. Teresa. Since I read her 
wonderful Autobiography, and its revela- 
tions from the inmost sanctuary of the 
soul, her memory has remained in my 
mind, an odor of incomparable sweetness. 
Her letters to those beneath her care upon 
"The Way of Perfection," are treasures 
of delight. " Holiness to the Lord," 
seemed to have been engraven upon her 
from her birth, and she was believed 
never to have committed a mortal sin. 

Mr. Montague. St. Francis of As- 
sisium. The Seraphic Doctor, and the 
Founder of the Seraphic Order. The 
Glorious beggar of Christ ! His offering 
of himself, and all that he had, upon the 
Altar of Christ at 25, is to me one of the 
grandest pictures of humanity. " If I 
did not give," said he, as he stripped off 
his only garment to cover a poor man, 
"If I did not give what I wear, to him 
who was in more need of it than myself, I 
should be accused of robbery by the great 
Almoner of Heaven. " The ' ' True Cross 
Bearer," "Standard Bearer of Christ," 
and "The Angel of the East," he was 
called. Wonderful celestial favors were 
poured upon him, and admiring Christen- 



166 



dom still echoes Bossuet's ^rand words, 
*' Happy, a thousand times happy, is that 
humble Francis, the most ardent, the 
most passionate, and if I may so speak, 
the most desperate lover of poverty that 
perhaps ever was in the Church." In 
his own lifetime he assembles 5,000 of his 
monks at Assisium, and thirty-five years 
after the Seraphic Order was founded, in 
33 Provinces it reckoned 8,000 monas- 
teries, and at least 20,000 Religious. A 
century later it numbered 150,000. 

The entire evening was occupied until 
a late hour, with the most delightful col- 
lection of the Acts of the Saints — and it 
was in my heart to gather them all up as 
a fragrant bouquet fur you, dear Journal, 
this evening. And lo, I have given you 
but the barren heads of the charming 
conversation. I would I had Madame 
D'Arblay's talent for '' theatricalizing 
dialogues," I could be be quite sublime 
for some days over what has been said 
to-night. Dr. Burney averred she carried 
birdlime in her brains, so that everything 
that alighted there stuck, and Mrs, Thrale 
replied she was sure she carried it in her 
heart. I am confident there is nothing of 
it in my brain, or I could have written 
you a history that would indeed have 
been a sweet regale to you. To be sure 
she lived in a time when conversation 
was considered one of the fine arts, and 
cultivated as such, but even out of mu 
materials, had I her cue for journalizing, 
I could have said millions of pleasant 



things, that would have suited your 
humor well, without transforming myself 
into a blue stockinger, or an anecdotical 
memorandummer. You must receive the 
sweet and good intention, in lieu of the 
gay and easy chatting, that have made 
Madame D'Arblay's Diary a long delight. 
How comfortably she ensconces you in 
that charming Streatham Coterie, in the 
midst of the faces and forms, her pen has 
made so familiar, while we listen to the 
"colloquies sublime," and act as self- 
constituted receivers of the merry jests 
and plays of fancy, that fall from the lips 
of burly Johnson, and Mrs. Thrale, and 
their brilliant satellites. How grateful 
we are, that she had more conversations 
with Dr. Johnson in that salle d'audience, 
than there were days in the year, as she tells 
us she had. I was but a little girl when 
introduced to the charming circle, and 
ever since I have reckoned them among 
close acquaintances, and it seems scarcely 
possible that I am not really related to 
them by friendship, gossipry and alliance. 
It is as good as going out to a neighborly 
tea-drinking to take the book, and "talk 
over our Hyson," with the guests at Mrs. 
Thrales, confabbing, and being loaded 
with civilities by those kings, and queens 
of the dictionary. But I must say good- 
night. 

February 27. I think even a stranger 
entering Montgomery House at this pres- 
ent, would take up the strain, " How doth 
the little busy bee improve each shining 



167 



hour!" for a. busier bee-hive could scarcely 
be imagined. Not even the children play- 
ing drones. Coming upon them suddenly 
this morning, I found them nearly buried 
beneath heaps of work, fashioning hold- 
ers of every conceivable shape, hue, and 
fabric, for various uses and places. At 
first, they tried to skurry them out of 
sight, but finding the cat had escaped 
from the bag, they displayed their wares 
with merry laughter, and accepted my 
loving thanks. Bright wools, peep out of 
all the work-baskets and boxes, and it is 
easy to divine that all are fashioning, 
tasteful contributions, for the adornment, 
and comfort, of the new tabernacle. Half- 
finished pincushions, mats, tidies, screens, 
sofa-pillows, afighans lie about in bright 
confusion. Auntie is making lovely aff- 
ghans, from long hoarded silk dresses, for 
the lounges of the different chambers, and 
very sweet will be their association. 

Can it be that all this is for me ? Who 
came here such a lonely waif, so glad to 
creep into the quietest corner of the house. 
I am amazed as Cinderella in the fairy 
tale, to find myself suddenly become ''the 
cynosure of every eye," ''"the observed of 
all observers. " The central figure on the 
canvass, the heroine of the hour. And 
to see all enter into ray joy as if it were 
their very own, while the " nearer one 
still, and the dearer one " cherishes me 
like a '' choice cutting from the Garden 
of Eden." It almost intoxicates me with 
joy. The little home will be little else 



than a casket of souvenirs d'amitie, and 
very dearly will they be treasured, re- 
membering the '' honeyed words, and 
smiles, that made the gifts the dearer. " 

I have a seamstress with wonderfully 
deft fingers, almost worthy the term artis- 
tic, who with hoops and canvass, and 
hair, is transforming the commonest 
chairs into inviting beds of ease, to be 
covered with lovely cretonne's, which I 
am going to the city to select on the mor- 
row, or Monday, D. V. These are for 
Auntie's room, and the lounge is to cor- 
respond, with lovely tufted puffs to orna- 
ment it. The bureau is to be covered with 
the game. I shall have an upholsterer 
make it of pine, with numerous little 
drawers above the large ones, all covered 
with cretonne, running up by the mirror, 
over which curtains are to fall on either 
side. I have a plan of having the walls 
tufted with the same dainty material, if 
the city boasts an upholster who can com- 
pass it. It was the first room planned, 
as it ought to have been, and we are 
working ifor it, lovingly, as if ornamenting 
a shrine. I am embroidering pillow-cov- 
ers for it, and I wish you could see how I 
have 

*" Wrouo^ht patiently into the snowy lawn, 

Flowers, buds, and leaves, and sprigs, 

And curlino- tendrils, gracefully disposed 

A wreath that cannot lade, of flowers that blow 

With most success when all besides decay." 

Taking old embroidery long hoarded, 
and transferring it to the linen, in shapes 



168 



and designs that suit ray humor. It is 
done quickly, and the efiect is lovely. Dost 
charsje me with an ignominious love of 
details, because I linger in the story ? 
You would not, could you realize the soul, 
and poetry, and song in everything, des- 
tined for the new Eden. The inanimate 
articles receive life, as soon as their desti- 
nation is revealed, take on, as it were a 
soul, and have living, vital, interest for 
me. Nothing destined for the cantie cot 
caa seem ''common, or unclean," for 
even the homeliest adjuncts, are robed in 
a ray of glory. If Lhe love that surrounds 
each, possessed the transforming power 
of a certain pair of black eyes I wot of, 
the simplest details would shine out clear, 
and glowingly beautiful before you. Con- 
stance laughs endlessly at my pride in 
my stitches, and has gone about to-day, 
repeating over and over from the old 
play— 

" She works religious petticoats, for flowers 
She'll make ChiTrch histories. Her needle dotk 
So sanctil'y my cashiouets. Besides 
My smocK sleeves have such holy broidery 
And are so learned, that I fear iu time 
All my apparel will be quoted by 
borne pure instructor." 

February 28th. The last day of the 
month : some poet saith, "Last is a mel- 
ancholy word," I have been so endrely, 
and unalloyedly happy this month, 1 go 
out from its shelter with regret. Indeed 
I doubt, if we ever do anything for the 
last time without sorrow of heart. We 



illustrate daily now, that " many hands 
make light work," and that " love makes 
the labor light," for almost unconsciously 
each night, we store away a " harvest of 
sheaves, and ripe clusters of joy." 

Sunday, March 1st. The tirst day of 
Spring : Theodora arranged music for 
Bryant's, " The stormy March has come 
at last," and greeted us with its sweet 
strains, as we came down to breakfast. 
The poem has always been a favorite of 
mine, and it was good to practise it, to 
sing at the "gathering of the Clans," 
this evening. To the soft music, it went 
up as a hymn of thanksgiving, to the 
Giver of the Spring. 

Coming home from Church,, where the 
services, and the words of the preacher 
had been in sweet accord with the awak- 
ening Spring, the Beloved repeated, 
' ' Again has come the Spring time, 

With the Crocus's golden bloom, 

The smell of the fresh turned earth mould, 

And the violet's perfume. ' ' And when 
we reached home, I found he had searched 
the garden, and discovered the first yel- 
low crocusses, and the very first violet 
that had opened its soft, blue eye. How 
they contrived to grow under this chill 
sky, I know not, in response to the warm 
wish for them. Perhaps it was at the 
breath, and touch of love, they awakened. 
I feel green leaves, and fresh flowers 
opening in my heart's garden, often at 
his touch. 



1G9 



"We had a lovely Lenten talk at cveninsj. | 
The harmony of the season in nature and j 
in the human soul, everytliinj^; \ reparing 
for a joyful resurrection — a glad Easter- 
Day. Every year the Lenten season be- 
comes more inexpressibly precious to me, 
and I realize more and more, that "no 
child of God can afford to let so precious 
a season pass by, without gathering to his 
soul's health, the divine refreshment it 
affords. A Lent wasted, is a jewel lost, 
something for eternity dropped out of our 
lives, lost for eternity 1" 

Wednesday, March 4th. Nothing but 
the dregs of the day, and the dregs of my 
mind left to bring to your llepositorium, 
to-night, dear Familiar, after our success- 
ful days in the city, and safe return, so 
with a good-night greeting, I will turn the 
key in the padlock. 

Thursday, March 5th. The "Spring 
fever for work," has taken possession of 
the household, almost to the exclusion of 
books, and pencils, and pens. An epidem- 
ic of new projects is almost sure to pre- 
vail in the Spring. Driving along yester- 
day on our return from the city, we 
remarked both in country, and town, 
evidence of it among " all sorts, and con- 
ditions of men." Fresh paint here — a 
new roof there — spick and span new fences 
springing up— new touches of taste and 
enterprise. An expression of joyful, hope- 
ful outlook on all faces, an earnest of the 
blessings of "seed time and harvest." 
In many a country place, we saw the 



flower-loving members of the household, 
with gloved hands, and pruning knifes, 
flitting busily about the door-yards, and 
gardens, and were very sure visions of 
new flower-beds, and rustic designs were 
dancing before them, from the eager in- 
quiring look, beaming from their happy 
faces. We were wonderfully in sympathy 
with them, for like the man in the German 
tale, with the wonderful hearing, we can 
almost hear our flowery *' purposes grow 
into fruit." Constance adopts some new 
refrain almost daily, and to-day, through 
the passage, at the keyholes, in all unex- 
pected times and places, she has caroled 
gaily, "In the Spring, a young man's 
lancy, lightly turns to thoughts of love." 

Among the purchases mado in the city 
escapade, which delight my eye, and re- 
joice my heart, are the beautiful cloths, 
white, red, green, violet and black, for 
the dressing of the Family Altar, and 
our Frie - Dieu^ at the different sea- 
sons of the Christian year. I shall not 
have time to broider more than the 
Easter ones, which the Best One has 
taken home to design, before the trysting 
day, but they will be pleasant work for 
the housekeeping days. Everything that 
gives a beautifying, and sanctifying touch 
to Home is infinitely dear to me. 

Friday, March 6th. — After a busy day, 
the fair evening hours were fledged with 
music, delicious music. These little 
i7U2^romptu musicales are most enjoyable, 
for is not music rapture, joy, glory. ''As 



170 



nightingales love most to sing near an 
echo, so do our hearts speak loudest near 
tones of music." Cousin Kate lays upon 
the piano the day, and sometimes week, 
before one of these musicales, a little sche- 
dule of our names, under the date ; and 
we each write against our cognomen, what 
we will contribute, musically, to the even- 
ing's entertainment. So we come together 
always with full programme, and the even- 
ing passes ofl* without a discordant note to 
break the harmony. After the music had 
all been rendered, I recited Mrs. Thax- 
ter's poems on Mozart and Chopin, and 
Cousin Harry read some charming se- 
lections from the letters of Beethoven, 
Mendelssohn, Chopin and Haydn, closing 
with Mozart, because it is good to close 
with a good laugh, and his letters over- 
flow and sparkle with fun. The last cho- 
sen, being the one in which he asks his 
sister, Do you know the history that oc- 
curred here ? Well, I will relate it to 
you. " "We were going home straight from 
Count Firmian's, and when we came into 
our street we opened our door, and what 
do you think happened? .... We 
went in." 

We have had a merry snow-storm, 
*' sugar-snow," the children called it, 
with which the wind has frolicked madly, 
heaping it in all sorts of fantastic shapes 
and places, causing the Black Knight to 
exclaim, as he entered, as some wit did 
loug ago, " The snow lies in drifts ; I 
wonder what its drift is." 



Saturday, March 7. — To-day, to my sur- 
prise, two men brought in a large engraving 
stand, and a little note from the Baloved, 
telling me the collection was the gather- 
ing of years, and that he wished me to 
keep them, as a sort of "first fruits" of the 
joys to be tasted in the Kew Eden. Oh 1 
what a feast they are, and what a blessed 
art is the engraver's. Here, thousands 
and thousands of miles from the originals, 
we feast on Raphael's divine Madonnas 
and Cartoons, Titian's glorious Revela- 
tions, and Murillo's rare Conceptions. 
All are rare and fine — many of them art- 
ist proofs, so soft and beautiful. My talk 
with you, faithful Familiar, will be but a 
"span long," to-night, so long have I 
lingered over these wondrous creations. 
Very sweet is the thought that they are 
to be part and parcel of our Home — silent 
companions for life. I remember the 
gifted author of " Yesterdays with Au- 
thors," called his pictures, "assemlsled 
guests, who dropped in years ago, and 
stayed with me, without the form of invi- 
tation, or demand on my time and thought 
— eloquent, silent partners for life." 

Sweet Lares, I have found my hand 
passing caressingly over them, as if they 
were living things, many times. We 
passed the evening with them, enjoying 
their sweet revealings. At their touch, 
there seemed to be a resurrection of beau- 
tiful thoughts, and memories, and images, 
in the mind of the Best One, and he 
brought forth from that rich storehouse, 



171 



things new and old, for our entertainment. 
Oh I ic was good to look in his face, and 
watch the changing play of feeling, as his 
mind shot off bright sparkles and scintilla- 
tions of wit, and all the while the little 
notelet of the morning, kept up a tender 
singing, forcing me again and again to 
smile in the faces of my friends unawares. 
They would not have wondered could they 
have heard that music- box next my heart, 
but would have acknowledged it was 
enough to make a stoic smile. I must to 
sleep, and dream of the "great canvas 
which God has given us to cover with 
forms of light and beauty." 

Sunday, March 8th. A real George 
Herbert Sunday, "so cool, so calm, so 
bright." A young Missionary has come 
to take charge of us. For a time it seem- 
ed doubtful whether we could secure him. 



and we feared this was to be "the tear 
drop of earth, hanging on our flowers of 
bliss," but even that is wiped away, and 
we look up into depths of unclouded 
azure exultingly. That we should have 
the blessings, dispensed in Holy Church, 
given us here in the wilderness, is like 
the rose leaf on the brimm.ng cup, and 
has made the day, a glad day of rejoicing. 
We cannot see any region from which a 
cloud can arise, even so "large as a man's 
hand," in our heaven, and yet we know 
" there never yet were hearts or skies, 
clouds might not wander through." But 
while it is cloudless, we will sit rejoicingly 
under the " blindness to the Future kind- 
ly given," and in this spirit, we closed the 
day with a long Spring ramble, by the 
river side, and in the woods, with un- 
clouded Happiness as our companion. 



172 



CHAPTER XYI. 



Monday, March 9th. — We had a long, 
delicious talk en famille this evening, on 
Ecclesiology. The strange and unfounded 
prejudice against the Byzantine Architec- 
ture, a Gabled Greek Cross, with Central 
Dome, was discussed. In the minds of 
many, the later associations of Moham- 
medanism, have transmuted them into 
Mosques, crowding out the remembrance 
that all, beautiful in Mahometan Tem- 
ples is the birthright of the Oriental Faith, 
and all, that is hideous, the invention of 
that degraded religion. The aerial dome, 
and soaring arches, have in them the 
breath of Christian life, and piety of the 
deepest fervor, and genius of the highest 
order, has been poured out upon them. 
The Sublime Dome is a " petrified poem, " 
an "Epic in Stone," raised to the Al- 
mighty, above the din and bustle of earth. 
" The vivid flame of Faith, required the 
means of transforming itself into stone, 
and thus bequeathing itself to posterity." 
The conversation thien branched off into 
descriptions of favorite Cathedrals, their 
marvels, and varying circumstances at- 
tending visits to them. 

The Black Knight said he had been 
reading lately an account of the origin of 
Stone Altars, and admired them greatly. 



as representing Christ, who is the Rock, 
and the Head of the Corner, and the 
Corner Stone, and because the Rock rep- 
resented this Table, which gave drink to 
Israel of old. 

" I have read," said Cousin Harry, " of 
some of the magnificent Churches "of the 
reign of Justinian, such as All Apostles 
at Constantinople, and St. John's at 
Ephesus, where the Altars were of silver, 
plated with gold, while that of St. Sophia 
was of pure gold. Into the molten mass 
pearls, and other gems, were thrown. It 
was then richly chased, and inlaid, with 
rubies, crystals, topazes, onyxes, sap- 
phires, and other jewels of inestimable 
value. A Golden Altar was afterward 
erected in the private palace of Basil the 
Macedonian. 

"•In many places in the East," said 
Mr. Montague, "I have seen Altars 
of Wood, and in many of the poor, 
country villages of Greece, earth is 
the only material used. The canopies, 
or baldachins, hung over the altar, excited 
my admiration most. Usually, in the 
shape of a half square, and terminated in a 
cross. That in St. Sophia, was of silver 
gilt, with the lily work below the dome, 
the ball on which the cross rested, and 



173 



the cross itself, of pure gold. The same 
thino:, was used in the early Latia Church, 
and called the umbraculum, or propitia- 
torium. That made by St. Leo III. for 
the basilic of St. Peter weighed 2,704 lbs. 
of pure silver, and is explained mystically 
to signify the Heaven, while the altar 
means the earth, and thus, as it is written 
that God wrought salvation, in the midst 
of the earth, so the priest offers the mys- 
tic sacrifice on the midst of the altar." 

" How vividly they rise before my 
mind !" exclaimed Mr. Carlton. " Aaj-- 
thing that recalls my travels in the East is 
delightful, so intensely did I enjoy them. 
The iconostasis were always studies of 
great interest to me — resembling the 
English rood screen, except in the panels 
being solid to the top, absolutely to veil 
the mysteries from the eyes of the people. 
It has three doors. On the central door 
is always the Icon of our Blessed Lord, 
on the left, the Mother of our Lord, the 
other according to the taste of the Archi- 
tect. That of St. Sophia is of silver, 
wrought in arabesques and flowers. Fre- 
quently they were of brass, ivory, tor- 
toise-shell and silver. Some are of wood 
plated with silver. It is expounded mys- 
tically, as the division between the pres- 
ent, and the eternal world, as modern 
canonists explain our own rood screen. 
Some of the gates are wonderfully beauti- 
ful. Before the fiill of the dome of St. 
Sophia, those of that Church were of 
alabaster, enriched with columns of gold 



and silver, and sparkling with jewels, 
and were afterwards rebuilt of marble. 
The lectern is most frequently an eagle 
like our own." 

"How shocking," said Mr. Mortimer, 
" the defacing and marring that has been 
done by the Turks, I was going to ex- 
claim, in astonishment over the white- 
washing of walls, gleaming with such 
wondrous variety, and beauty, when I 
remembered it had been done almost in 
our own day in England, so ' I lay my 
hand on my mouth in the dust. ' " 

" Kothing in Italy excited my admira- 
tion," he continued, "more than the 
marbles, and only to-day I was reading a 
description of some of the Eastern ones, 
in which the writer Procopius exclaims, 
' Who can recount the beauty of the piers, 
and walls, with which the Church is 
glorified. The stranger would imagine 
lliat he stood in a meadow in its height 
of flower. He would admire tliis sea-blue 
tint, t/iat leaf green hue, he would mark 
hovv the purple flowers, and how the 
white glitters. Nature has variegated 
the marbles, with the most opposite colors 
like a painter.' " 

" Few persons are aware," said cousin 
Harry, "of the existence of fancy, va- 
riegated marbles in this country, and 
Italy, G-reece, and Ireland furnish us, be- 
cause our own are overlooked." 

And so the evening passed in a de- 
lightful stream of talk. 

Tuesday, March 10th. — Over at the 



174 



New Eden in full force, taking measure- 
ments, and making plans, making a frolic 
festival of it at the same time. As usual 
Constance contrived to touch the springs 
of fun and humor, in the midst of our 
busy work, exclaiming : 

"If liebecca had only set up house- 
keeping when she first came, opened a 
Spinster's Hall, all this might have been 
prevented, for doth not Ovid say, ' Idle- 
ness is the Parent of Love '? and some 
one else has sung as wisely, ' Many think 
they are in Love, when in fact they are 
only idle.' I do not call this a case in 
point, but one thing I know, if Rebecca 
had been as busy all the time as now, she 
never could have found Time, or Opportu- 
nity, for falling in love. * Oh ! what a 
Fall was there my Countrymen I' Then 
you and I, and all fell down." 

*'Rouchefoucauld said," returned Cou- 
sin Harry, "that very few people would 
fail in love, if they had not heard it so 
much talked about." 

"Another poet saith," the Black 
Knight added, that "Love hath no 
wherefore." 

"You have none of you," continued 
Constance, " disputed my position that 
' The world is ruled by love and hunger. ' 
If Rebecca had only been busy making 
pleasant bread, and pleasant meats, she 
would never have had time to take the 
impression so kindly." 

" I read something this morning," said 
Theodora, "that makes me doubt her 



wisdom. Mary Lamb writing to a youna: 
lady friend says, ' I have known many 
single men, I should have liked in my life, 
(if it had suited them) for a husband — 
but very few husbands have I ever wished 
were mine,' which is rather against the 
state in general. " 

"She was scarcely capable of judging," 
laughed Cousin Kate. " Apart from her 
'mental twist,' she was hardly situated 
so as to be able to use a divining rod in 
cases in point. Poor little woman, like 
the ' little red leaf ' the last of its clan, 
That dances as often as dance it can, 
Hanging so light, and hanging so high. 
On the topmost twig that looks up at 
theskv.'" 

" Sweet little woman that she was I Con- 
tent and blest even on their poor " bread 
and water salary.' I never think of her 
without a blessing, remembering how she 
cheered the poor laughter-loving Brother 
with her * Golden Temper. ' To pick up 
the lost thread of discouse. If Jack loves 
Jill, and Jill loves Jack, there is no limit 
to the glory, of the temple of happiness 
that can be built thereon." 

"I scarcely dare air my *sap green 
ideas,' on the subject yet," ventured I, 
" but I know that I am sitting at a perfect 
Feast of Happiness now. And because I 
feel anchored on a Rock of Truth, I have 
no fear, that I shall ever cast loose from 
my moorings, and learn to unlove." 

" Who is to write the Epithalamium ?" 
broke in Constance. "Southey wrote one 



175 



as a Bridal gift to his wife. Eather an 
unsubstantial, intangible one, wasn't it?" 

''I think it was beautiful in him," I 
exclaimed, '' and it would be a beautiful 
example to follow." 

''Hear I hear I Mr. Mortimer," she 
cried, "as 'lovers alway outrun the 
clock,' we shall expect the proof-sheet up 
to-morrow. Are there any ideas I could 
furnish? I am willing to tread any 
measure, to the tune of ' Come haste to 
the wedding I' " 

"Ask anything but that, Miss Rebec- 
ca I" exclaimed Mr. Mortimer. "I 
warned you on St. Valentine's Day, my 
Pegasus would not soar, and that I had 
no knack to make my words go chime, 
and none to make a crystal of my 
thought." 

"Let us write it for him, " chimed in 
Constance, "meet me by moonlight one 
and all, and let us see if it is possible to 
set the twain to music. Perhaps we may 
not only immortalize them, but ourselves 
shine with reflected glory in the song. I 
can hardly wait to poise the gray goose 
quill in air, and let the divine afflatus 
play. In what measure shall we sing ? 
In heroic verse. Idyllic, Iambic or Georgic? 
I summon all persons, singular number, 
feminine or masculine, of our circle to 
the arena, to take part in the lists. ' If 
ye have songs to sing, prepare to sing 
them now I' What a gift I Fit for the 
gods, a veritable banquet of Ambrosia — 
a genuine draught of Helicon— all the 



bees of Hybla will hover round her, if she 
wears it pinned across her breast. Invoke 
the muses hourly 'till you come. This 
must be an occasion dear to the sacred 
nine. If you will not holp me in this, 
and single handed, I could never reach a 
rhyme, I shall bestow upon them as my 
marriage portion, a Liber Famelicus, in 
which Rebecca may jot down the story of 
her life from day to day, for the edifica- 
tion of our disinterested cousinships. 
Seriously, I am surprised that Mr. Morti- 
mer refuses to sing. 'A bird that can 
sing, and won't sing, must be made to 
to sing,' says the old ballad. Really, 
Rebecca, I stand aghast at his unwilling- 
ness to grant your request." 

"It is not a question of willingness. 
Miss Constance, but ability," cried the 
Black Knight. "I'd sing for her for ever 
if I could." 

" Whoso feels love in the brea.st, feels a 
spur in his limbs," she replied, merciless- 
ly. ''Oil up your pipes with the 'Holy 
Oil of Love.' There is no imagining 
what dulcet tones might flow. Heigho 
for a tuning fork to give him the pitch. 
The oft quoted statue of Memuon sang 
when the sun's beams rested on it, why 
should not the prosaic statue called man, 
melt into song under love's beams ?" 

" I have shown myself so wise in love's 
wisdom thus far," replied Mr. Mortimer. 
"I would not turn Harlequin by sweep- 
ing a harp, a note of whose Gamut I do 
not know. Every tea-cup and cofi'ee-cup 



176 



would rattle it abroad, before the mar- 
riage bells were runii;." 

''In the name of all the muses, and 
mortals, how does he contrive so many 
excuses, and all in the tweedledum, 
and tweedledee strain ; why the ' Prince 
Charming of my Fairy tale,' would 
' make crotchets of his body, and semi- 
quavers of his soul,' if I asked him." 

' ' ' Was ever lad so wounded for love as 
I is ?' " merrily cried the Black Knight. 
'' I never had the knack of speaking 
much, when I had but little to say."- 

Whereupon she commenced chaunt- 



" Sir, I admit your general rule, 
.t every poet is a fool, 
i you yourself may serve to show it, 



Oil, X iiuiiiiL/ v^JLii gtjuciaj 

That every poet is a fool. 
But you yourself may serve t( 
That every fool is not a poet.- 

Concluding with Jamie Hogg's saying, 
"Some persons can bring music out of a 
boot-jack." 

'' The mounting flames of my ambition 
aspire to it, but a savage might as well 
attempt a symphony of Beethoven, or 
one of Hadyn's masses," he replied. 

"Well, as you refuse to out Southey 
Southey, shall we attempt the Beaumont 
and Fletcher style, and altogether indite 
the lay. Does the idea smile upon you ? 
Or have some of you one already on the 
anvil ?" she asked, bowing to the com- 
pany. "I should think the theme would 
be one, upon which any fancy might spin 
rhymes." 



" I shall expect the epithalamium from 
you, and you alone," crijd the Black 
Knight. "You promised to lend me the 
aid' of your ready pen in emergencies, and 
the supreme emergency has arrived." 

"I could not flesh my maiden sword in 
poetry, on this occasion of all others, 
happy as I should be to render you such 
a little ' threadbare service,' " she courtes- 
ied. "Chronic shyness is my bane, and 
' the crotchets in my head, bar the utter- 
ance of good notes.' I'll drop the sub- 
ject, as Guy says, like a hot cake." 

As we came out upon the Via Jocun- 
dissima. Cousin Kate said : " See the old 
nests in that leafless tree. Truly you 
have followed the old sage saw, 'Build 
where the thrushes sing.' " 

" We shall soon have this footpath 
worn," said Constance. 

" I trust you will, else will our table not 
be round," my Knighthood's chosen. 

"It is nothing but a dog-path now," 
replied Constance, and that reminds me 
a la Ollapod^ how truly Hebecca has 
proven the old saying, ' The dog that 
trots finds a bone.' " 

" I cannot by any rhyming, or reason- 
ing," laughed I, "understand how you 
fling your arrows from your well-filled 
quiver, wherever you will, and pass un- 
scathed, and unassailed. I believe I shall 
turn tables, — Were you conscious when 
you tried your wit upon the Saxon haired 
laddie, that 'it was sure to light a 
match.' " 



177 



" Oh, Rebecca ! thou saintliest of sweet- 
hearts. Can it be thou, mine own famil- 
iar friend ? I lay my feather-tipped ar- 
rows down, and ask for quarter. For 
' when we debate, it is my fate, always to 
have the wrong of it.' I'll away to Kim- 
scLatka : — 

' My heart is full, my trunk as well, 
My mind and caps made up, 
My corsets shaped by Mrs. Bell, 
Are promised ere I sup.' 

I am the veritable, traditional and orig- 
inal ' rolling stone that gathers no 
moss !' " 

' ' JV ''importe^ carrissima^ ' ' responded 
the Saxon haired laddie. '''Come unto 
these 3^ellow sands,' we shall affiliate 
heartily in this, for I have always thought 
I must have served as a model for the 
line, ' A man to be so precious stirring, 
must surely be a spoon.' En passant, 
do you not think this ' the most sensible 
spring you ever knew ?' A real march of 
intellect ! ' Vide, the oldest inhabitant ?' " 
he laughed gaily. 

Monday, March 23. A long interreg- 
num of silence, but not by any means an 
''interlude of leisure." I have been in 
town shopping, and have but just re- 
turned. The expeditions were all cou- 
leur de rose, and the pleasure of gather- 
ing together the household gods, un- 
alloyed delight, I have been happy as a 
child gathering toj^s for a playhouse, and 
have invested each article with senti- 
ment, and think upon them tenderly, as 



if upon their a])propriation, they became 
instinct with lite. The one tear drop on 
the flower of joy, was the separation irom 
the best one, and it is not sentimentalit3^ 
but truth and soberness to say, the world 
seemed literally without a sun. And now 
that I have returned, even bright Mont- 
gomery House, is like a body without a 
soul, wanting him, and my wail goes up 
plaintively as that of the Hindoo Mother. 
He has gone to the eastward, and will 
remain some days. 

I trust this will be the last of our separa- 
tions. I used to ask a dear old lady, 
when I was but a child, to tell me over 
and over the story of her life, the old 
sweet tale, to which the grand climacteric 
that goes singing like choicest music 
through my prophetic heart, was, " We 
lived together sixty-five years, and were 
never separated twenty-four hours. May 
our life be like theirs, ' lovely and be- 
loved, and in death not divided.' " Like 
Elizabeth of Hungary, if separation ever 
does come to us, I shall lay aside my sing- 
ing robes, as she did her royal ones, and 
covering my head with a vail, await his 
return in prayers and vigils ; and like 
her, when I receive "note of his ap- 
proach," I will adorn myself with the 
best that I possess. It seems to me that 
with my heart made strong and courage- 
ous through love, I could do and bear 
anything with him beside me, and 
nothing without. There was never a 
truth more patent, than that I cannot live 



178 



without him, so that our treaty matrimo- 
nial bears the test of dear Auntie's touch- 
stone. 

My carpets seem beautiful to me as 
ennameled meadows*, and Howery meads, 
and I felt like patting every nice young 
shopman, and tellinoj him what a very 
delightful lad I thought him, as he came 
within the aureole of glory surrounding 
my plans, by displaying the gay patterns, 
and harmonious colors. Yes, I longed to 
tell them all how in love with them, and 
all the world I was. If I had not dili- 
gently set a seal on my heart, and sealed 
it with seven seals, tiiat none of these 
overflowings, and eftervescings, could es- 
cape, I should surely have been written 
down, at the very least, a love-sick girl, if 
not a love-crazed maiden. 

The homecoming, and the welcome, 
were the " bouquet of the whole jour- 
ney." The household fairies love fairy- 
like resting places, said they, but not even 
for the farther glorification of the little 
Eden, can we spare you again. 

The daily love-letters, filled with the 
noblest, purest tenderness, have been un- 
failing, inexhaustible fountains of joy, 
sweeter than the sweets of Hybla, and I 
know I shall not want for affection while 
I have such a lover to cling to. 

I was too weary and travel-stained to 
go the "Olympus of the establishment," 
this evening, though very sweet were the 
voices that called. I cannot even keep 
awake to talk to you^ and so half in a 



dream say good-night, and sins, " Oh 
bed! Oh bed! delightful bed^! Thou 
heaven upon earth to a weary head !" 

Tuesday, March 24:th. Can it be that 
it is only two weeks to-day, since the 
beloved left me in the city, and I stood 
looking after him, agitated as a deserted 
bird about to take wing, feeling that " the 
only road in the world, was that which he 
was pursuing, and that he had taken it 
away with him." And I have been but 
a bird with a broken wing ever since ; but 
he's coming to-night ! he's coming to- 
night 1 My heart is tired, wandering over 
the hills and valleys, with him, on his 
long, homeward journey, and uttering 
prayers with every pulsation, but to-night, 
to-night, the very word makes me bound 
with happiness, so inseparably linked with 
it, is the thought, He's coming, coming, 
coming I I know our thoughts are one, as 
he travels toilsomely on, they meet in 
union in the wee, cantie home, and rest 
upon the stores of aftection, happiness, 
and good, that in our hearts we feel will 
be opened to us there. Look at the little 
home which way we may, we see nothing 
but a long train of good tliags pouring 
through its door. It all rises before me, 
and ''a sight sae delightful I trow I ne'er 
spied, as the bonnie, blithe blink of that 
wee fireside." I can hardly sit still long 
enou'^^h to tell you the good news, for the 
merry music in my heart calls for dancing, 
and dance I must, to the glad measure 
He's coming to night. He's coming to- 



179 



night ! I do not know but the little can- 
tie home, will be a continual dancing 
hall when it comes to be mine, each and 
every day to sing. He's coming, He's 
coming to-day ! Very sure am I, there 
will always be, " an eye to mark his com- 
ing, and grow brighter when he comes." 
You would have laughed dear Familiar, 
had you seen me mark the coming of the 
postman, a little while ago. His homely 
tigure as he came lumbering up, sent a 
brightening gleam, through all the win- 
dows and doors of the house, for I knew 
he had a heart-leaf from the beloved. 
Then when I really had it in my hand, 
you should have seen the '• young excite- 
ment," I got up over every sentence. 
The very world seems sweeter since its 
coming, with love ! love ! written every- 
where. The clear, blue heavens are 
brighter, sunlight more glorious, twilight 
holier, moonlight and starlight more sug- 
gestive of loving thoughts, and there's 
light, light, everywhere, that sinks far, 
far down into my soul, quickening every 
pulse with joy, and beneath its glad, in- 
spiring ray, life so bp.autiful seems, that 
were my lips to speak the half the 
tlioughts of thankfulness and joyfulness 
that gush from my lieart, there would be 
l>eard one continued song of rejoicing. 
But you will think me a foolish child, so 
I'll not think aloud any longer. 

Wednesday, March 25Lh. Lady Day : 
Deo gratias is the one cry of my heart 
this morning, caught up by everything in 



nature, animate and inanimate. It was 
the Christian password, St. Augustine tells 
us in his day, and consecrated by pious 
usage, and it seems as if it must hereafter 
be the spontaneous voice of my life, the 
legible inscription on my brow, and the 
outbreathing of everyportion of my being, 
making me stand out in the sight of all, 
as an impersonated thanksgiving. 

When I went down last night, I found 
the grate in the drawingroom alight, and 
that fairy fingers had arranged everthing, 
so that we should be alone, and undisturb- 
ed on this evening of reunion. I was 
there on the watch tower, when I heard 
his footfall on the walk, and felt "his 
very step had music in it, as he came up 
the stair." Oh! how glad we were. 
" His rich heart full of fragrant love, as 
May's musk-roses are of morning's wine. " 
If words could describe the meeting, I 
would dip ray pen full quickly in' my 
h?art, that you might hang the picture in 
your mind forever, but its sweetness is in- 
communicable except to those who have 
felt " Love's sweet mystery stirring at 
their hearts." How thirstily I drank in 
the tenderness looking out so holily from 
his true, pure eyes, scarcely conscious of 
anything, save that he had crowned me 
Queen of his heart-world, and I had ac- 
knowledged him King of mine, and royal' 
ly we reisrned. I love to say it over, and 
over, endlessly to myself. "He is my 
King ! my King I I have crowned and 
sceptred him ! Long live the King I" 



180 



Truly "those who love, feel rich in 
everything," knowing themselves to be, 
' ' shrines of God's peerless wealth, the 
immortal jewel Love." He said he had 
come all the way singing, like one of the 
old Troubadours, and that the way 
seemed very short, like the years in which 
Jacob served for Rachel, because of the 
great love in his heart. Like the old faith- 
ful Trouveres, "from morn till noon, from 
noon to dewy eve," he had marked his 
devotion by endless harpin^s on the per- 
fections of the lady of his heart, now try- 
ing a sonnet to her eyebrow, now to her 
lip, and now to her ringlets, in increasing 
variations. That the yellow acacia blos- 
som, or flower of joy used to be the covet- 
ed prize for the best ballad, a silver eglan- 
tine f'^r the best pastoral, and a golden 
violet for the best song, and that despair- 
ing of winning the violet, sweet as the 
songs were in his own ear, he had deter- 
mined to award the prize in the silken 
list, to the listener and not to the singer, 
or the song, and had brought me a violet 
cut from an amethyst, instead of a golden 
one, remembering my amethystine love. 
All this, in " words that beautified his na- 
tive tongue," and ravished my heart and 
ear, to hear, albeit, he "exclaimed in 
pleasant mood : 

" This minstrel cometh for little good, 
I ween, it" be singeth all day long, 
No one will listen to his song." 

I found he ordered the lovely charm the 



very night I told my love for the peerless 
gem, so swift is he to anticipate my 
wishes. It will always hold in its violet 
and purple hues the soul of that evening, 
and the rich wine of its love. Long as it 
" shoots out rosy flames," so long may it 
be a talisman, shielding from evil and un- 
holy thoughts, and inspiring all-holy and 
loving ones. He clasped it on my chain, 
where I shall wear it taithfully as a sacred 
amulet. 

To-day we have been at Church to- 
gether, and made our solemn Thanksgiv- 
ing, rejoicing that it fell upon the Festival 
set apart in commemoration of the angelic 
heralding of the Incarnate Love. 

March 26th. A day of ceaseless rain, not 
fast falling showers, but the old deacon's 
prayed for ' ' drizzle , drozzle. ' ' There has 
been nothing cheerless about it, however, 
so fully have its hours been occupied. Not 
being at all mercurial in temperament, or 
sensitive physically to the changes of the 
barometer, 1 have always had a penchant 
for rainy days. They will never have 
power to turn the Cottage Home into a 
lachrymatory, or to summon any blue 
spirits to steep its hours in indigo. I 
love a rainy day. There is a sense of 
comfort, of sheltered security unknown 
in sunshiny weather. They are sugges- 
tive of vast undertakings, and in the 
notable housewifely life approaching, they 
will be real harvest days — days of great 
accomplishments, at least, so they gleam 
out on my enraptured eyes. " Visions of 



ISl 



glory, spare my aching sight !" The in- 
terruptions to which one is exposed on 
bright days are all shut out by the tem- 
per of the day, and we feel equal to any- 
thing — miniature Samsons, able to carry 
off the gates of Gaza. They are the house- 
wife's "Camel Hours," in which she 
makes preparation for the days that come 
after, and it is very rare to find one of the 
thrifty, notable High Priestesses of Home 
that is not a lover of rainy days. This 
fancy is not purely theoretic and anticipa- 
tive, as you might think from the fore- 
going ; for in my present stage, I know 
nothing more delicious than a hopelessly 
rainy day, with a charming book, its 
leaves all uncut, within reach, and the 
whole round of hours free to devote to it; 
or with a dainty bit of work requiring, 
taste and skill to form, as "happy pro- 
logue to a swelUng theme." Or with a 
chosen friend, the world shut out, and 
"We two are a multitude," written in 
glowing signs on cheek and brow. These 
make a rainy day most sweet, and to me 
it has no drawbacks, save the thought 
that the driving storm beats on the home- 
less and the destitute, as well as on our 
rain-proof homes. 

It is a sort of inherited possession, this 
love for intemperate weather. The dear 
auntie enrolls it in her philosophy, and I 
think, in her rule of lite, cheerfulness 
under all skies, and all degrees of tem- 
perature, and any who have served their 
novitiate of life, under her training, would 



feel themselves untrue to her teaching, did 
they allow their spirits to bo blown about, 
and tossed by every wind that blows, 
as the fashion of the day is. A gray sky 
with many is the signal for gray spirits, 
and fancies, and hopes, and as the clouds 
gather over the heavens, so do they ob- 
scure the sunlight of cheerfulness on their 
hearts and faces. Give me the sunshiny 
gladness that is independent of external 
objects, bubbling up from the pure, deep, 
unfathomed wells of happiness and peace- 
fulness within. If our hearts are the 
temples of peace, truth and gladness, they 
will send forth a voice of cheer that will 
diffuse itself in blessings among all with- 
in its reach. Few realize the radiating 
power of a cheerful soul, and how soon 
its infectious peacefulness makes itself 
felt. Very naturally, this came to be the 
theme of our evening discussion, and all 
were wrought up to "concert pitch" on 
the occasion, but the spirit of journalizing 
is not on me. I begin to be afraid the 
good knight who wears my colors is exor- 
cising all spirits, and thoughts, that do not 
begin, circulate and end in him. It is 
not his aim, but my weakness. He must 
not be made to "sit in the stocks and 
stand in the pillory" for my sins, for, in- 
deed, he is a "selfless man and stainless 
gentleman," without a shadow of con- 
sciousness that he is taking all there is of 
me, absorbing me quite. My father used 
to call me a perfect absorbent of love, at- 
tracting and centering in my own person 



182 



the love of all around me. Now the 
tables are turned, and I am absorbed my- 
self; and true as the needle to the pole, 
my thoughts have wandered off again 
from the rainy day to this Polar Star of 
my destiny, and all I can remember of 
the conversational tilt, except what "he 
said," was Theodora's pleasant story 
about the "Lamb's" love of a rainy day, 
and I think it was Hazlitt's merry rhymes 
upon it, running, 

" You'll guess why I can't see the snow-cov- 
ered streets, 
Without thinking of you and your visiting 

feats ; 
When you call to remembrance how you and 

one more, 
When I wanted it most, used to knock at my 

door, 
For, when the sad winds told us rain would 

come down, 
Or snow upon snow fairly clogged up the 

town, 
And dim, yellow fogs brooded over its white, 
So that scarcely a being was seen towards 

night, 
Then — then said the lady yclept near and 

dear, 
Now, mind what I tell you— the Lambs will 

be here. 
So I poked up the flame, and she got out the 

tea, 
And down we both sat, as prepared as could be. 
And there, sure as fate, came the knock of 

you two. 
Then the lanthorn, the laugh, and the 'Well, 

how d'ye do?' 
Then your palm towards the fire, and your 

face turned to mo, 



And shawls and great-coats being where they 
should be. 

And due ' never saws ' being paid to the wea- 
ther. 

We cherished our knees, and sat sipping to- 
gether, 

And leaving the world to the fogs and the 
fighters, 

Discussed the pretensions of all sorts of wri- 
ters." 

This was the cue to many stories of rainy 
days from one and another — tales of Fair- 
weather Friends, and Friends for a Rainy 
Day — with a rare mingling of fun and 
philosophy ; and at length the conversa- 
tion closed with Auntie's repeating the 
little rhyme commencing " It rains! What 
lady loves a rainy day ?" and closing 
with, "Such are not sad even on a rainy 
day." 

March 27 — Friday. Several of the car- 
pets are laid in the new Eden, and dainty 
curtains hung, and everything gives token 
of approaching festivities. And I have 
been in the kitchen and made my first 
loaf, pronounced by all to be "Bread 
sweet and wholesome as St. Elizabeth's." 
A bit of veritable ambrosia, the Knight 
of my Heart called it, as, of course, I sent 
one to him to exhibit willingness to share 
my last crust with him, signing my note, 
"Yours to the last crust." Constance, 
on its way out, encountering the waiter, 
pinned on, "With the wish that you may 
never be done so brown as to become 
crusty;" but nHmporte^ he will "con- 
sider the source," as I told her, whereat 



183 



she '' furled her sampler and hauled in' 
her thread," and cams down upon me 
with a rash of merry invectives. | 

We had a very nice conversazione this ! 
eveningupon Homes, CousinKateopeninir 
ir., by taking down a volume of Frederika 
Bremer's, from the library, and reading | 
therefrom: ^'A family is at the same I 
time like a poem, and a machine. Its 
poetry, or song of the feelings, vyhich [ 
streams through, and unites one with | 
another, all its members, which twines | 
flower-wreaths around the thorny crowns ! 
of life, and brightens with the green of 
hope the ' naked rocks of reality,' there- 
with every human heart is acquainted. 
But the machinery many regard as not 
essential, and neglect it. And yet this 
part of the institution of domestic life is j 
not the least important to its harmonious 
progress. Itis with this machinery as with ! 
the clock. Arc all wheels, springs and so I 
on, well arranged ? It needs only that the ! 
pendulum swing, and all is set in proper 
motion, which goes on, as if of itself, with | 
order, and the golden linger of peace and 
prosperity points out the hours upon its 
clear face. ' ' ' 'Miss Bremer is preeminently 
the novelist of Home," she added as she 
finished the passage. ' ' Her books breathe 
the very spirit of fireside happiness, and 
yet her own home-life was dark and hard 
and sorrowful enough." 

"Like a true post," returned Cousin 
Harry, "she learned in suffering what 
she taught in song." 



" Perhaps," added Cousin Kate, " the 
unfulfilled, unanswered yearnings of her 
nature revealed what was required to make 
Home a Heaven, and a Heaven of Home. 
Certainly she discourses of one in choicest 
a(!cenLs of joy and appreciation. I do not 
know that tliere is one of her books you 
could rise from without a conviction, 
strong and deep, of blessedness, and being 
tempted to exclaimj "Happy are they 
who love, yea, thrice happy !'' 

"The vein of playfulness running 
through them is one of the greatest 
charms," I said. "I think she always 
has a heroine who has learned the art of 
'breaking vexations with a ready jest,' 
not only conveying a great Home secret 
in this way, but making them infinitely 
amusing. It is wonderful what a help 
over a hard place is a harmless joke ; the 
pleasant, playful word in season rounds 
ofi" the angle that would have wounded, 
and the little irritations melt into the 
good laugh, leaving the atmosphere clear 
and bright." 

"Everything has a funny side," said 
Constance, ''if we will only look for it. 
As there is a ' soul of goodness' in all 
things, so is there a soul of fun, if one 
knows how to draw it out. I sigh over 
wasted opportunities for fun, sadly as 
over those for moralizing, and am always 
at a loss to understand why persons can- 
not enjoy a good laugh at their own ex- 
pense, as well as at those of others. I do 
not set myself up as a brilliant example 



184 



of anything, but know that I enjoy a 
laugh quite as much when I am the pro- 
voking cause, and perhaps more, as then 
there is not the alloy of fear of giving 
pain. I hope I am not building on a false 
foundation, when I reckon the laughs I 
give you as so many alms-deeds, I should 
be but a poor 'plume-plucked Richard,' 
if my one chance of serving ray genera- 
tion were taken from me — 'Tis my voca- 
tion, friends, and I trust you will commit 
absurdities enough to keep my wits from 
rusting iu the wilderness." 

"We should not recognize you without 
your little joke," said Auntie, ""It would 
be Samson without hair, Solomon with- 
out wisdom, Croesus without wealth, 
Gyges without his ring, and Nestor want- 
ing his years. Keep to your vocation, 
provoker of laughter; there would be a 
great many less smiles in the world if the 
spring of your mirth were sealed up. 
Keep to your little joke, my dear !" 

" Thanks ! thanks ! ' Praise is the best 
diet for us all.' I shall be as madly 
merry as the witches now I have your 
signet to my vocation; and shall merci- 
lessly illustrate hour by hour that there 
is nothing out of whicn the laugh cannot 
be drawn. Prepare yourselves!" 

" I remember," said Theodora, "Lady 
Ashburton's exclaiming, ' How fortunate 
that I am not married to King Leopold! 
He said to his French wife, "No jokes!" 
Now I like nothing else I' I think we all 
are quite in sympathy with her, and 



would not relinquish willingly our little 
jokes for Leopold's kingly crown." 

"For my part," cried Cousin Harry, 
" I think I would rather see a family 
without a flour barrel, and cruse of oil, 
than without its 'standing jokes.' They 
are a part, and by no means an inconsid- 
erable part of the staple of life. One must 
have their good laugh, their jolly little 
nut to crack. It is wonderful how little 
capital is required to manufacture most 
capital ones. Almost anything answers 
the purpose, if only the tricksey spirit of 
playfulness is a welcome guest in the 
bosom of the family." 

" I have seriously thought," exclaimed 
Constance, "if the world turned its 
shadowed side towards me, and my 
Flower of Chivalry forsook me and fled, 
I could take refuge in my vocation, and 
advertise after the fashion of one of my 
prototypes masculine, — " A home wanted 
by a young woman, whose society will be 
ample compensation for board and lodg- 
ing.' Truly saith the proverb, 'The lame 
and the lazy are always provided for.' 
The gods take care of Catol" 

"Worthy rival," cried her Saxon- 
haired laddie, Mr. Graham. "Worthy 
rival of the celebrated Hiram Adolphus, of 
Longfellow fame, who ' spoke blank verse 
in the bosom of his family, ' and looked 
upon himself as ' a pyramid of mind on 
the dark desert of despair.' " 

"I have been such a lone waif," cried 
Mr. Mortimer, " drifting about from one 



185 



hotel to another, and too often findinor my j 
'warmest welcome at an Inn,' that I am i 
so unlearned in home life and love, I con- 
fess to hardly knowing what you mean by 
standing family jokes. Can you give me 
some instances, and illustrate the idea ? 
Albeit I doubt not if I had the gift of 
patience, Miss Rebecca would teach me 
soon, as I believe it was she who advanced 
the syllogism." 

*'I could give you countless instances 
in our own little circle, but as Constance 
says, ' If ever I had a fault, it was modes- 
ty, " ' replied cousin Harry, ' 'and therefore 
to spare our blushes, I will take some out 
of the very book that elicited the remark 
which furnished the text for this talk. 
The first that comes to my mind is on an 
old coffee-pot, an ' incomparable coffee 
brewstress,' that was called by way of 
'standing joke,' 'Madame Folette,' be- 
cause ' an honest old woman of this name 
once treated at the table to a cup of her 
favorite beverage,' exclaimed, 'When I 
see a coffee-pot, ic is all the same to me 
as if I saw an angel from heaven.' The 
children heard this, and insisting that 
there was a great resemblance in figure 
between Madame Folette and this cofiee- 
pot, ever afterward it bore her name. By 
a similar comical association, a large 
black silk cloak, worn in common by the 
family, was called, 'The Court Preacher,' 
and a large red umbrella, called likewise, 
' The Family Roof, ' and the eldest daugh- 
ter, perhaps I should have named her 



first, the ' sensible little queen-bee. ' Now 
these sobriquets give occasion to no end 
of merriment, calling forth salutations on 
meeting, and benedictions on parting. 
We shall consider you poor indeed at the 
cottage, and objects for condolence, until 
you get up a stock of family jokes." 

"They are a sort of oie pZws ultra in 
family enjoyment in my mind," I ex- 
claimed, laughingly, "and I promise him 
to know the taste thereof speedily, and 
often at the expense of his own serene 
highness. You omitted some of the most 
spicy from our text-book. Do you re- 
member in the first love-affair in the 
household, (always a great afiair in a home, 
exciting interest of the first magnitude), 
how they called poor Louise mercilessly, 
'the object,' and how comical it became, 
as well as her dress, surnamed ' water- 
gruel,' and her • cathedral demeanour ?' 
bh ! there's nothing like little jokes, and 
merry jests, and playful changes rung out 
in daily life to keep the measure sweet. 
They help us in and out among the angles 
of the world, and of our own natures 
marvelously. The possession of a playful 
temper, that can laugh the clouds away, is 
a blessed gift, and to be coveted. It is 
the philosopher's stone of home, trans- 
muting annoyances, into occasions of 
mirth." 

" It is an invaluable gift in a mother," 
said Cousin Kate, " keeping back more 
tears, and frowns, than all the toys in 



186 



Kriss Kringle's bag. Mrs. Browning 
knew this when she sang, 

' Women know 
The way to rear up children (to be just), 
They know a simple, merry, tender knack 
Of tying sashes, fitting baby shoes, 
And stringing pretty words that make no sense. 
And kissing full sense into empty words, 
"Which things are corals to cut life upon, 
Although such trifles ; children learn by such. 
Love's holy earnest in a pretty play. 
And get not over early solemnized.' " 

"1 have observed it to be the great 
secret of a good traveler," remarked Mr. 
Carlton, "-this ability to ' break vexations 
with a ready jest,' as one of you quoted 
a while ago. I have seen one party of 
travelers hilarious over the ludicrous dis- 
comforts heaped around them, which 
sunk a correspondingly good party into 
the depths of despair, and the difference 
was in the appreciation of the funny side, 
and persistent dwelling upon the sombre. 
A good laugh will not make a poor inn 
good, but it goes far to make it bearable. 
For a companion upon the road, or in the 
home, commend me to ' the man who 
laughs.'" 

We have wandered a good way from 
our text, — Miss Bremer's nonpareil 



sketches of Home. I want to return to 
it, just to point out what I consider their 
key-note, sounding clear, true, and earn- 
est, through all. 

' ' Bethink ye what the word * House- 
wife' expresses. In Swedish, the word 
Hustra is Home-troth, which, in its pri- 
mary sense signifies Home Faith, — she in 
whom domestic faith centres. The mar- 
ried woman is her husband's domestic 
trust. ' ' This i s always the central thought 
and figure, — the heart of her stories, 
through which the blood of the whole cir- 
culates. I remember her description of 

a Housewife in the'H family, around 

whom it was only natural a beautiful and 
holy Home should grow up. It radiated 
from her as it were. " There was some- 
thing tender, something restless, in her 
manner, and especially in her eyes. One 
read there that she incessantly bore upon 
her heart that long, unending prememoria 
of thoughts and cares which, for a wife, 
mother, and housekeeper, begin with 
husband and child, and go through all 
the concerns, all the least branches, of 
home, and domestic management, and 
never once come to an end ; like the 
atoms of dust, which may be blown away, 
but which always fall again." 



187 



CHAPTER XVII. 



March 28th, Saturday. I entered the 
salon this evening bearing aloft in tri- 
umph an illuminated card, exclaiming, 
'' With all the Martha cares with which 
I have been cumbered this week, I have 
found time in odd moments to illuminate 
a motto for the new tabernacle. 8ee, do 
you think we shall be able to illustrate it ? 

" All is the gift of Industry, 
Whate'er exalts, embellishes, 
Or renders life delightful." 

" Growing prosaic already 1" cried Con- 
stance, '* I knew there could be no poetry 
in those piles of linen, Robert of Lincoln 
will soon follow suit, then adieu dainty 
poetry. Sweet goddess take thy flight. I 
wish we might have some dire mishap, 
some terrible ecclaircissement. Some 
way of turning out what we are not, to 
produce a young excitement, and develop 
romance. Of all prosaic things, to say 
nothing of unpropitious, this walking 
straight into a lover's arms, with no one 
to cry hold I Avaunt I and fan the flame 
with opposition, is the most prosaic I Was 
there ever a wooing so utterly devoid of 
all romantic flavor ? Is there no way in 
which we can cause a green and tender 
melancholy to creep over Rebecca, and 



make her interesting ? Angels and min- 
isters of grace, defend us from such pro^ 
sale loving I If she would but fall over a 
precipice, and be rescued by her Knight- 
hood's cliosen and Chivalry's bravest I 
What thrilling scenes would wake the 
echoes of Kenawha. As that lacks the 
symmetry of possibility by reason of there 
being no convenient neighborly lover's 
leap, for her to play the r61e of Sappho 
from, if she would but set fire to the 
house, and allow her devoted to rush in 
to the flames and bear her out in his arms, 
and then devote her life to trying to bring 
smiles to his poor, blinded, disligured 
face, a la Jane Eyre, there would be as 
creamy a romance as we could desire. 
Oh I how vastly moving it would be. 
One only charm this hath, it is stranger 
tiian romance, for never did it chance 
before, nor ever will again. If I were to 
be the historian of the tale I should en- 
title ic "^ Truth stranger than Fiction.' " 

Here I must stop and whisper to you 
that we are on the "toasting fork of 
curiosity," regarding her Grace, the 
queenly Theodora, and Mr. Montague, 
presaging, and divining, by divers signs 
and tokens, that they are on the eve of a 
treaty matrimonial, though they commit 



188 



no absurdities like common folk, and are 
entirely unapproachable upon the tender 
subject. "Trifles light as air," are con- 
tinually transpiring that sugar the suspic- 
ion, and give color to the suggestion. 
Several times I have been upon the point 
of whispering the delicious secret, when 
something crowded out the opportu- 
nity. Alice and Mr. Carlton are on Thee 
and Thou terms, also, and their love 
seems ripening last. Verily the lovely 
boy with the quiver has had this house- 
hold under his especial care this winter, 
and caught us all in a fit of soft hearted- 
ness. Indeed, Constance avers the very 
witches have conspired, to make free pass- 
age for his arrows into our innermost 
hearts, and to cast a glamour over both 
households, making the members of each 
stand out as Eden-like beings. An at- 
tack of Byronic madness has seized us, 
and though we do not " dote on the Cor- 
sair," Theodora seems to dote on her 
affinity, and Alice on her " object," even 
as Constance upon the "Saxon-haired lad- 
die," and I, on the Black Knight, while 
interest in things outside, grows "small 
by degrees, and beautifully less," as if 
we were quaffing daily draughts of N^epen- 
the, while the days pass on, and the cur- 
tains of night are drawn with a silvery 
sound. The wedding stitches are nearly 
taken. "The rings and the jewels, the 
changeable suits of apparel, and the 
mantles, and the wimples, and the crisp- 
ing pins," in readiness, while the little 



cottage receives hourly "touches of sweet 
harmony." If you wish to view it in 
fancy's glass, describe to yourself a very 
Arcadia, and believe your wishes pro- 
phetic of all the happiness a human 
home can hold. Last night the beloved 
quoted to me, "happiness is what all 
men seek, all men have the jewel in their 
casket, but few find the key to unlock the 
treasure," to which I returned playfully, 
"You think Rebecca, the predestined 
key, and verily thou speakest well, when 
calling thyself the holder of mine." 

Just he^e, although it was near the 
noon of night. Auntie came in with a glad 
evangel, written in glowing lines upon 
her face, that dear tell-tale face, which 
announces good tidings before the tongue 
can utter them. With uplifced hands she 
exclaimed : " Theodora has commissioned 
me to publish the Banns, and I cannot 
let sleep visit mine eyes, or slumber mine 
eyelids, until I have executed the task 
the darling set me. Your happiness and 
example are contagious. If there were 
another available masculine in the circle 
I should take refuge in flight, to be be- 
yond the reach of this irresistible influ- 
ence, lest I should be taking Benedict's 
song upon my lips, in spite of all rhyming 
or reasoning. " And on she passed with 
her good news, like the messenger on 
highland hills, showing the sign, and 
pressing on to spread the circle of sur- 
prise. A line of light and gladness fol- 
lowing her like a wake. I have beea 



189 



writing the story to the best one, to dis- 
patch with the morning light, because 
forsooth when anything of good conies to 
me, I cannot rest until it has overdowed 
into his heart, and the answering wave of 
gladness comes back to mine. I was so 
excited and bewildered with joy, as 
hardly to be able to keep my pensioner 
of steel, from dancing all sorts of pirou- 
ettes, and hifalutin rigadoons, so that de- 
spairing of his deciphering the charac- 
ters, I closed by saying, " Whensoever 
you meet a word you cannot read, call it 
love, for come they few, or come they 
often, they will be truth-telling symbols 
of the love in my heart." It pleaseth me 
greatly for many reasons, this new mat- 
rimonial alliance. They were born under 
concordant stars, and act upon each other 
like flint on steel, and much of melody 
would have been lost, and the world have 
been the poorer, had they not been 
' linked like perfect music unto noble 
words.'" I know they will "walk the 
world, yoked in all exercise of noble 
deeds," and give them my fullest bene- 
diction. 

I forgot to say Constance came whirling 
in, in a whirlwind of delight after Aun- 
tie's visit, expressing her joy in all sorts 
of extravaganzas, dear, loving-hearted 
extravagant child! "Her friends have 
no faults, her enemies no virtues." 

Sunday, March 29. To be entered for- 
evermore in our Home Kalendars as 
Theodora's betrothal day, doubly conse- 



\ crated by the hallowing influences of the 
sacred time and hour. 

Theodora was written fatherless and 
motherless many years ago in the self- 
same hour, when a gallant ship went down 
with all on board. There was bitter 
mourning in many a home, but few wild- 
er wails went up than those from Theo- 
dora's lonely heart. This home at once 
opened its warm arms of shelter, and re- 
ceived her into its heart, and she is in it 
as a daughter, and will not leave it until 
she goes forth a blessed wife. Constance 
to-night, after the pretty betrothal scene, 
urged her going home with her, to share 
in full measure in all the honors, and fes- 
tivities, of her gay wedding, but her heart 
through sad experience has learned to 
fear separations, and she prefers a quiet 
marriage here^ without the contingencies 
oix^arting^ rather than the gay marriage 
bells, and guests, and pomps, and cere- 
monies idtli. She says that burned into 
her life, and blazing out in letters of fire 
at every note of farewell are the words, 
'' Weep ye not for the dead, neither be- 
moan him, but weep sore for him that 
goeth away, for he shall return no more, 
nor see his native country." I do not 
wonder that it is so, nor should I have 
marveled had she preferred the quiet 
marriage under any circumstances. She 
has shown more tenderness, and womanly 
weakness to-day, than I supposed were in 
her nature, causing me to whisper sub 
rosa to Auntie, " What the frost con- 



190 



ceals, the sua reveals." Her affianced 
sent her in the early morningj a basket 
of the rarest roses, drawing from Con- 
stance, the ojrave assertion of her consci- 
ousness, that his winter had been devoted 
to rose culture, char^insc her with relish- 
ing "rose-water imbecilities," qulLe as 
much as other mortals, because of the 
glad tears that glittered unshed in her 
beautiful eyes, over these accompanying 
words, hidden under the roses : 

*' A flower do but place near thy window-glass, 
And throuL^h it no itnag-e of evil can pass, 
Abroad must thou go. on tliy white bosom wear 
A nosegay, and doubt not an angel is there. 
Forget not to water, at break of the day, 
The lilies, and thou shalt be fairer than they. 
Place a Roie near thy bed, nightly sentry to 

keep, 
An angel shall rock thee on roses to sleep. 
No vision of terror approaches the bed, 
When his watch the angel around it has spread, 
And whatever bright fancy thy guardian to thee 
Permits to come in, very good it shall be. 
When thus thou art kept by a heavenly spell, 
Should'st thou, now and then, dream that I 

love thee right well. 
Be sure that with fervor and truth I adore thee, 
Or an angel had ne'er set mine imago before 

thee." 

We have called her the Rose of the 
Yalley, and the Virginia Rose ever since 
she avowed it to bo her chosen flower, and 
the pseudonym will cling to her more 
closely than ever. "Queen Rose of the 
rose-bud garden of girls," that she is. 
"In her loneness, in her loneness. All 



the fairer for that oneness. " We thought 
she would be " all unmated, all unmated, 
because so consecrated," as the "Layoi 
the Early Rose" hath it. But the days 
of her romance have come, and instead 
we call, for a poet to sing the " Romaunt 
of the Rose." In accord, we have called 
up all the rosy associations we could sum- 
mon, stringing together les^ends and 
rhymes of the storied flower, 'till the very 
atmosphere is couleur de rose. The pretti- 
est contributions I thought were from 
Auntie and Mr. Mortimer. Auntie, for 
whom parable-teaching has an inexpressi- 
ble charm, and who is never weary quot- 
ing from Kaummacher, Fouque, and Mrs. 
Gatty, and kindred allegorical instructors, 
told us a lovely story from the German 
Amber Witch. How in the trial of the 
heroine, the poor old father came into the 
court room, bowed down with sorrow and 
foreboding. A little maid engaged in 
dusting the room, had in her mouth a 
fresh rose-bud, that he prayed her to give 
him. She did so, and as he inhaled its 
fragrance, his spirit revived, and the rose- 
bud became a messenirer of comfort and 
refreshment to his poor heart. Oh! how 
bea^utifully she told it, filling up the bare 
outline with touches tender and true, and 
lovinir, concluding with — 

" Many a time, in a dark hour, has the 
thought of that rose-bud come to my mind 
with a soothing, strengthening power, 
and made it easy for me to believe that the 
angels of love and compassion were near 



191 



to aid and cheer the tempted, suffering 
soul." This led her to exclaim, ''What 
a wonderful power is there in a true 
thought ! What a power to bless and 
strengthen ! Years after the brain that 
evolved it, and the hand that penned it, 
have mouldered to dust, it lives, grows, 
enlightens the darkness which surrounds 
it. Lives to do good to the wayworn, 
struggling pilgrims, journeying towards 
the dark river of death, the true Jordan, in 
whose waters the soul leaves all its stains 
of sin, all its earthly taints. Would that 
it might be mine to leave as my legacy to 
the world such a thought. A power, an 
influence for good, after I have laid down 
the burden of sins and sorrows it has been 
my lot to bear, exchanged them for a per- 
fect holiness, a perfect obedience, accord- 
ing to my favorite promise: 'And His 
fjcrvants shall serve Him.' An influence 
and power to benefit my fellow-men, that 
sball do the work when I am dead, that I 
have so longed to do living." 

The pebble dropped into the stream of 
talk by the Best One, to which I made 
allusion, was his playfully saying, he 
should hereafter dub Mr. Montague a 
Kosicrucian, did it not imply indirectly 
that Miss Theodora was a cross which he 
had taken up. To which she replied that 
as she received the blessed symbol as the 
emblem of Love and Salvation, she was 
more than willing to have him bear the 
sohriqueL Whereupon he recited, exquis- 
itely, the little poem, new to us all : 



SUB ROSA CRUX. 

" In times of old, as we are told, 

When men more childlike at the feet 

Of Jesus sat than now, 
A chivalry was known more bold 

Than ours, and yet of stricter vow, 
And worship more complete. 

" Kni2:ht8 of the Rosy Cross ! — they bore 
Its weitrht withiu the breast, but wore 

Without the sign, in crlistenin^ ruby bright, 
The gall and vinegar they drank alone, 
But to the world at large, would only own, 

The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light. 

" They knew the secret of the holy oil, 

Which poured upon the prophet's head. 
Could keep him wise and pure for aye, 
Apart from all that might distract or soil, 

With this their lamps they fed, 
Which burn in their sepulchral shrines, 
Unfading day and night." 

Monday, March 30th. A day entirely 
devoted to the details of the little menage. 
Contrary to our usual custom, we have 
spent the day together, our tongues mov- 
ing rapidly as our fingers. Usually it 
could be said of our household, as Fanny 
Burney said of Mr. Thrale's, every indi- 
vidual at Streatham spends the morning 
alone. This was one secret in the lives 
of Phoebe, and Alice Gary , of their accom - 
plishing so much. They always separated 
after their cheerful, animated, and chatty 
breakfast table, to their own rooms, and 
did not meet until their late dinner hour, 
when the evening was given to the recrea- 
tion, and play of mind of their hospitu- 



192 



ble Keceptions. "We contrived to draw a 
world of poetry, and mirth, from our pro- 
saic employments, and many pleasant 
stories rippled the stream of work, of wo- 
men who had dignified, and beautified la- 
bor, by their way of doing it, as St. Monica 
made "plain cloth to be velvet, by her 
handsome wearing it." Among other 
things. Auntie told us of the accomplished 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's saying, 
"The most minute details of household 
economy become elegant and refined, 
when they are ennobled by sentiment. 
To order dinner is not merely arranging 
a meal with my cook, it is preparing re- 
freshment for him whom I love." 

" We might carry it on indefinitely," I 
cried, " through all the affairs of the day, 
the trimming of lamps, the lighting a 
beacon for a lover, &c." I shall link a 
sentiment with everything to be done in 
the cantie cot. Poetry can exalt and 
embellish any life or deed. " A dreary, 
weary life," would the Hero of Kavanagh 
have had, "had not poetry from within 
gushed through every crack and crevice 
in it. This transformed it, and made it 
resemble a well, into which stones and 
rubbish have been thrown, but under- 
neath is a spring of pure, fresh water, 
which nothing external can ever check or 
defile." 

I am taking daily lessons from the chef 
de cuisine, hoping to be able to minister 
acceptably wiLh pleasant meat and pleas- 
ant bread, and savory viands to "every 



man's master," the stomach. A convic- 
tion strong and firm, that food is the key 
of health, and that to a humiliating de- 
gree, " Good steak, and light bread, is 
benevolence, Coftee, inspiration and hu- 
mor, Grood tea, tenderness and sprieht- 
liness," dignifies the study and practice, 
and makes me relish the eifort to learn to 
"blend the toothsome with the whole- 
some." To use a very homely saying, 
strong in proportion to its homeliness, 
"A clear head must have a clean stom- 
ach." It is a science difficult of attain- 
ment, all will acknowledge, when good 
authority tells us, "there are seven 
chances, against even the most simple 
dish, being presented to the mouth in ab- 
solute perfection." Many felicitous com- 
binations are required. " If you search 
the world round, each profession you'll 
find has some snug little secrets, which 
the Mystery they call. " The old saying 
runs, "As many Frenchmen as many 
cooks ;" and I believe it is conceded that 
that nation alone get out of the art of cook- 
ing all that it can give. They come to each 
meal as to the great event of the day, and 
not merely to eat, but to relish the play 
of wit, and fancy. Serving up dishes of 
conversation fit for the gods, not only aid- 
ing digestion, but cheering and brighten- 
ing life. A banquet of dry toast, with 
laughter and pleasant words, is more 
truly termed a ' ' festal board" than many 
an elegantly served table. Lady Morgan 
says : " It matters little how great dinners 



193 



are dressed, but small ones should be ex- 
quisite, or not given at all. " Cousin Kate 
has already initiated me into many rules 
of taste for serving tasteful meals, and 
concocting delicious little delectabilities, 
beside many economic secrets of making 
rechauffes ^ to make the most of every- 
thing:, and of what you have. The funda- 
mental rule of cookery, I have at the very 
tip of my tongue, and can utter it trip- 
pingly. Everything that is in food, ought 
to be left in it by the cook, and found in 
it by the eater. Every pZat must be in 
possession of the particular flavor that 
belongs to it. Am I not almost worthy 
to be a disciple of Prof. Blot. Cousin 
Harry came in for a while, and gaily 
joining our hive of busy bees, read for an 
hour to us from a volume of French Home 
Life, very charmingly in accord with our 
current of thought. 

Travelers form and bring home with 
them pictures of French life, gathered 
from their experience of cafes and hotels, 
and have small idea of the beautiful home- 
life of this gay-hearted, vivacious, beauty- 
loving people, so that this book, taking us 
into this largely unexplored side of life, is 
full of sweet revelations and teachings. 
Taste, that is so much a matter of culti- 
vation wit), other peoples, seems innate 
in the French, and its sweet displays, a 
spontaneous outgrowth, while to produce 
the same effects, an English woman, for 
example, would require hours devoted 
sacredly, to " dress and beauty's pleasing 



cares." One passage was so in harmony 
with the thoughts uppermost the last few 
weeks, awakening such a pleasant vibra- 
tion of sympathy, I cannot refrain from 
giving it to you now and here : "After all, 
brightness, and warmth, and softness, do 
help to unsadden weary hearts, do aid to 
make manners gentle, do stimulate gaiety 
in young children, do frame in love. There 
is many a house in France, where the 
whole aspect of indoor life is lighted up by 
the fitting of the rooms, where the home- 
tie grows stronger, under the influence of 
satisfied and contented taste, where the 
husband comes in gaily from his work, 
eager to look once more at the charming 
picture, in which his wife is the central 
object. " The Best One gave me a very ele- 
gant copy of Eastlake's Household Taste 
this evening, and his careful selections, 
and the talk growing out of its inspiring 
hints, was a very fitting conclusion to the 
day 's thought and labor, which we summed 
up, into a sort of epigrammatic family sen- 
timent with Lady Morgan, that "It is 
good to sit at good men's tables, and feel 
the laughing-gas of society." 

March 31st. How fast the season is 
hastening on. The last day of March. 
It seems but yesterday we were ushering 
it in with song and rejoicing, yet when I 
look within, and see what its hours have 
accomplished, and abroad, and see the 
magical changes that have taken place, 
under the influence of the Spring, I realize 
its passage. The whole face of nature is 



194 



changed, the tender grass is upspringing, 
and the fields of grain are like vast plains 
of emerald. Cousin Harry insisted on 
our throwing aside work, and scattering 
oft' our several ways, to enjoy the lamb- 
like sweetness of this last March day. It 
is not every one that knows how to take 
a walk, the old proverb says, and it is not 
every one likes the same walk. We di- 
vided oft* into duos, and without any 
consultation, each turned into a diff"erent 
path. Theodora to the hill-country — 
Alice to the woods — Constance to a 
wild ravine, and I to the river path. We 
found violets, and several wild wood beau- 
ties, and, best of all, welcomed the robins. 
The children shouted yesterday, ''The 
robins have come !■' but none came for 
matins, or vespers, to our windows. We 
taught them the sweet legends concern- 
ing them, trying to inspire them with our 
own love for the man-loving bird, but did 
not see them. Almost every country has 
its legend concerning them, holding them 
in especial tenderness. We talked over 
many, and selected as our favorite, the 
exquisitely turned lines of Bishop Doane, 
upon the old legend, that a robin, hover- 
ing about the Cross, bore oft" a thorn from 
our dear Saviour's brow, and that from 
that time robins, have been the friends of 
man — 

Sweet robin ! I have heard them say, 
That tbou wert there upon the day, 
The Christ was crowned in cruel scorn ; 
And bore away one bleeding- thorn. 



That so, the blush, upon thy breast, 
In shameful sorrow, was impressed, 
And thence, thy genial sympathy, 
With our redeemed humanity. 

Sweet robin ! Would that I might be, 
Bathed in my Saviour's blood like thee ; 
Bear in my breast, whate'er the loss, 
The bleeding blazon of the Cross ; 
Live, ever, with thy loving mind, 
In fellowship with human kind, 
And take my pattern still fr^m thee. 
In gentleness and constancy. 

He told me of the time honored Greek 
custom, of boys catching the earliest swal- 
lows, and carrying them from house to 
house, singing a legendary song, which 
demanded presents of food, and delicacies, 
and other gifts, in return for the privilege 
of seeing the first swallows, a welcome 
earnest of the approach of the sweet 
spring-time. From house, to house, they 
went, like Christmas carolers with us, 
with their sportive rhymes, ringing out 
gaily on the sweet spring air. They were 
rarely refused, but it is supposed the 
proverb "One swallow does not make a 
Spring," was probably the churlish an- 
swer of some one, to these swallow-bear- 
ing children. The petulant exclamation 
has passed down the years as a proverb, 
not for its wisdom, or from its being the 
cream of a nation's thought, or a crys- 
talized poetic gem, but from the incon- 
gruity between the innocent, poetic 
gaiety, and the brutal repulse. We can 
but hope he wiped the tear from tJie 



195 



child's face, for the tear of a child weighs 
heavily ia the balance, against even an 
array of good deeds. 

We gathered some beautiful mosses, 
the delicate cup moss, and coral moss, 
with their exquisite red caps, enjoyed the 
blueness of tiie sky, and the blueness of the 
water, and all the blessed gifts of the 
bright spring day. Even to the lonely 
little woodpecker, who tap, tap, tapping 
at the tree under which we sat, called out 
the mournful legend, tbat I had never 
heard before, although I knew it to be a 
bird of great mythic celebrity. When 
our dear Lord and St. Peter were upon 
earth, they passed the house of an old 
wife named G-ertrude, with a red mutch 
on her head, baking bannocks. They 
asked her for one, and in compliance she 
put a tiny bit of dough on the griddle, 
and rolled it out, when to her amaze it 
covered the whole griddle. Kay, that 
was too large, so she took a still smaller 
piece, and rolled again, and lo, it covered 
the griddle again. The third time, she 
rolled a bit so tiny you could hardly dis- 
cover it, and the result was the same. 
Then her avarice grew, and saying that 
all were too large, bade them go their 
way for this time. Then our dear Lord 
waxed wroth, and transformed her into a 
bird, that should forever seek its food be- 
tween the bark, and the bole, and never 
get a drop to drink save when it rains. 
Immediately she flew up chimney with 
her red mutch on her head, which she 



wears to this day, and her wings all black 
from the soot in the chimney. She still 
pecks, and taps, and hacks away at the 
trees for food, and whistles when the rain 
is coming, for she is for ever athirst, and 
wishing for a drop to cool her tongue. 
In Norway she is called Gertrude's bird, 
and in parts of England, the Eain bird. 

I found the Best One's love for Mr. 
Montague " was wonderful, passing the 
love of women," and very beautiful was 
the expression on Theodora's face, when 
he told her his joy over the Betrothal, in 
the symbolic and significant language of 
flowers. Filling his glass to the beaker's 
brim, so that even a drop would cause it 
to overflow, he laid a rose-leaf on the 
brimming cup so delicately as not to dis- 
turb a drop, showing that though his 
cup of happiness was filled to the very 
brim, this new joj^ had added to it, as the 
rose petal to the fulness of the brimming 
glass. And afterwards he told her, the 
story that suggested it, of the famous 
Academy at Arnador, the rules of which 
were, that its members should think much, 
write little, and speak as seldom as pos- 
sible. Zel, a learned Doctor, celebrated 
all over the east, hearing of a vacancy in 
the Institution, hastened to make appli- 
cation to be received as a member. Un- 
fortunately he arrived too late, and the 
place was filled. The President filled a 
vase so full, that one additional drop 
would cause it to overflow, to signify that 
the Academy was too full to receive an- 



19G 



other member. The learned man turned 
sorrowfully away, when by chance, or by 
an angel's direction, his eye rested upon 
the petal of a rose at his feet. He seized it 
instantly, and with promptness placed it 
so delicately upon the brimming vase, 
that it did not disturb the water in the 



least. The ingenious symbolism was re- 
ceived with the greatest enthusiasm, tes- 
tified by unanimous applause, which con- 
veyed their consent, to the reception of 
the illustrious scholar, as a member of 
their school. 



19"; 



CHAPTER Xyill. 



April 1st. All Fools' Day! As you may 
imagine, we came down this morning 
on the qui vive for seasonable mirth, sharp- 
ened by the merry shouts of the children, 
with which the house rang from an early 
hour. The contretemps at breakfast made 
us hilarious; salt in sugar bowls, and su- 
gar in salt, tempting covered dishes, 
filled with — air ; knives and forks fasten- 
ed to the cloth, and as a climacteric pan- 
cakes that were literally flannel cakes. 
During the morning we were surprised 
to the extent of the ambition of the juv- 
eniles, by being called to look upon 
vacuum , instead of expected wonders. But 
the cream of the joke was reserved for the 
late dinner, when King Arthur's board was 
jound, no knight or lady missing. Then 
the tricksy trolls held undivided sway, 
and summoned up spirits of fun and mis- 
chief, like crowds of revelers at a carnival. 
We were ''fooled," to use the technical 
word, in every way, with letters — with 
packages — v/ith food — with sights — with 
suprises — and incongruities, received in 
the humor they were given. These added 
to the recital of all the 1st of April non- 
sense each possessed, made the day as 
gail}^ harmlessly happy as a child's holi- 
day, over which we agreed to write 



Rouchefoucauld's saying : " "Who lives 
without folly is not so wise as he thinks." 

April 2d. My journalizing moments 
are coming to be '' few and far between 
like angel's visits," now that '' Haste to 
the wedding " is written upon everything, 
within and without. Not an unmortgaged 
moment all day, and at evening my mind 
so pre-occupied, that I can only recall a 
few words of the Best One that roused 
me from a dream, which state I saw de- 
fined to-day, *' To lose thought of past 
and future." The subject theme was 
conversation, and I remember the Chi- 
nese proverb being brought up, that "a 
single conversation across the table with 
a wise man, is better than ten years mere 
study of books," and that after a long 
discussion of the celebrated falkers who 
have left their imprint on the ages, John- 
son's saying regarding Burke was quoted, 
" Sir, he is such a man, that if you met 
him for the first time in the street, where 
you were stopped by a drove of oxen, and 
you and he stepped aside to take shelter 
but for five minutes, he'd talk to you in 
such a manner, that when you parted, 
you would say, ' This is an extraordinary 
man.' " Again I lost myself in a mist of 



198 



hazy dreams, and only awakened to an 
animated account of the conversations of 
Margaret Fuller, which almost mark an 
era in Boston life — I heard them all wish- 
ing, and wished myself, as I had a thous- 
and times before, to have been part and 
parcel of the class, which assembled 
at Miss Peabody's rooms, in West street, 
on the 6th of November, 1839, and which 
was kept up until in 1844, when she re- 
moved to Kew York. Her most intimate 
friends said of her, that though she did 
many things well, she did nothing so 
well as she talked, "she could never de- 
liver herself in print, as she did with her 
lips. She required the stimulus of atten- 
tive ears, and answering eyes, to bring 
out all her power. She must have her 
auditory about her. With a little more 
imagination she would have made an im- 
provisatrice. She wanted imagination, she 
wanted productiveness in writing. She 
wrote with difficulty. Without external 
pressure, she would never have written 
at all perhaps. She was dogmatic and 
not creative." Her strength was in con- 
versation. She said of herself, " conversa- 
tion is my natural element, I need to be 
called out, and never think alone, with- 
out imagining some companion." I heard 
them say too that a friend said, ' ' A con- 
versation of an hour or two, with her is 
an epoch in one's life. ' ' We all dated back 
to this or that conversation with Marga- 
ret, and that Emerson, who knew her 
intimately for ten years, from 1836 to 



1846, said he never saw her without sur- 
prise at her new powers. 

In the sacred hour that followed the 
evening gathering, which the Beloved 
and I have pledged to each other forever, 
in which he usually tells me some fairy 
tale, a la Arabian Night life to sleep upon, 
he told me to-night more of M'me Ossoli, 
and especially of her ideas of the way in 
which different friends are brought to act 
and re-act upon us, as we pass through 
the various stages of life. That she be- 
lieved that we meet, at least those who 
are true to their instincts meet — a succes- 
sion of persons through our lives, all of 
whom have some peculiar errand to us. 
Often we leave them on our path, and re- 
turn no more, but we bear them in our 
memory, tales which have been told, and 
whose meaning has been felt. And that 
yet a nearer group there are, being born 
under the same star, and bound with us 
in a common destiny. They are not mere 
friends, but when we meet, are sharers of 
our very existence. Regions of being, which 
would else have lain sealed in cold ob- 
struction, burst into leaf and bloom and 
song. The times of these meetings are 
fated, nor will either party, be able ever 
to meet any other person in the same 
way. Both seem to rise at a glance, into 
that part of the heavens, where the word 
can be spoken, by which they are reveal- 
ed to one another, and to themselves. 
The step in being tlius gained, can never 



199 



be lost, nor can it be re-trod, for neither 
party will be again what the other wants. 

April 11th, Saturday. Yery unexpected- 
ly everythinsj conspired to favor my going 
to the city to spend Holy Week in fitting 
preparations for Easter, and late this last 
Saturday evening ofmy maiden life, I have 
returned, and received tenderest welcome, 
and blessing from all, — confident that 
whatever may come to me in the drama 
of life, absence from the Beloved is the 
one thing I cannot, will not bear. 

Easter, April 12th. Beautiful Easter ! 
I am sitting before my open window, that 
looks forth upon the hills, clothed with 
the richest green, and the whole land- 
scape flooded with the sun's parting rays. 
Many peaceful and pleasant thoughts 
enter into my heart, not the least of which, 
are memories of those dear to me. Those 
who sympathize with me, in that inde- 
Bcribat3le joy which the contemplation of 
nature gives. Amidst the peace which 
belongs to evening, and the heartfelt an- 
ticipations of that perfect resting, of which 
it is the fit symbol, my thoughts wander 
forth to those who shall share that eternal 
quietness with me. Towards him, with 
whom I am to share this earthly life, what 
tetter proof could I give him of my love, 
than this : That in the calm time when 
my heart is most joyful, my feelings spon- 
taneously turn to him, and I long for his 
presence, long to contribute so'aething to 
his hai)piness. You will see, dear Fam- 
iliar, that I SL'.zi very selfish in my desire 



for the happiness of those near and dear 
to me, for indeed I would wish to be able 
myself to confer upon them everything 
desirable, and very precious to me is the 
thought that soon I may, indeed, be able 
to minister to his happiness, whom I love 
best, and that we may enjoj' together our 
future lives. In imagination I look into 
his e3'-es, and see his pleasant smile rest 
upon me in the midst of these thoughts, 
and feel myself so happy. Independent 
of the great blessedness opening to me, it 
seems the delights of the awakening 
spring can hardly fail to fill up the cup of 
happiness. All nature is now so beauti- 
ful, waking once more to life. My heart 
rejoices in it, and its opening leaves and 
flowers, and every breath of the soft 
air fills rae with iodescribable pleasures. 
Kature rejoices in her resurrection, joyful 
symbol, and earnest of the resurrection 
of the human soul from the dark, gloomy 
winter of this mortal life, to an eternal 
day, in whose soft, warm light bloom for 
evermore the flowers of Paradise. 

Sometimes it seems hardly possible that 
I can be the same Eebecca, that last April 
looked out from her lonely Brooklyn watch- 
tower upon life. You, dear Familiar, 
could not appreciate how invaluable and 
priceless to me is afi*i;ction, did you not 
remember the insatiable hungerings, and 
thirstings of soul, that then possessed me, 
with desires unbounded as the universe 
after sympathy, and this mighty void ever 
deepening, ever widening. But I am 



200 



satisfied, and am " athirst no more." 
During the ten days that I have been 
separated from the Beloved, this sense 
of loneliness and want has not come 
back, for his image has been with me 
everywhere, and at no time did I feel 
myself separated from him. Many times 
in the nij^hts, have I looked through 
the window in my room, out upon the 
quiet night, and felt that he was even 
then watchiagvvith me. Hi? eyes looked 
down upon me from the deep blue sky, 
and 1 thought, he even now thinks of me. 
Oh I there is no time I do not think of 
him. In the day, or the night, when I 
see or hear anything of beauty, thoughts 
of him come immediately, or in the 
silence of the quiet night, his beloved 
form flits before me, ami I hear the soft 
tones of his voice fall upon my excited 
ear, or I see his eyes gazing upon me, 
illumined by his smile, I cannot be suf- 
ficiently thankful that my lot has been 
cast with one, in whom the love of nature 
is part of his very being. One, between 
whose soul and nature, the harmony is 
established, perfect, entire. I remember 
well when this new sense was bestowed 
upon me, and I gazed in a delight no 
words can express upon external nature. 
It seemed to me that I had wakened to a 
new life, to a nevv world. Since then, 
this sense has been ever deepening within 
me, and when my heart is in tune, that 
is, my conscience at rest, I never look 
upon the most confined prospect, that my 



soul does not dilate with an unspeakable 
joy. I lose myself sometimes in thought, 
wondering why, or where, this increase of 
the sense of beauty of which we are con- 
scious should have a limit. And may it 
not be true of moral beauty also. Ah I 
how delightful will it be to see in those 
we love, still something to enhance that 
love. To have our eyes ever opening to 
their ever-growing excellence. All this 
reverie, has grown out of the delightful 
thoughts suggested in our re-union to- 
day, when the Best One came for me to 
the city, where I had been watchin-j: the 
Cross beside, in Holy Church, and we 
drove home together, with t)at one heart, 
one soul between us, sympathizing per- 
fectly in the enjoyment of the beauty 
that surrounds this mysterious life of 
ours. 

Oh ! in this long absence how I have 
longed to see him, hear his voice, and 
press him to the heart that ever loves 
him more than words can tell. I have 
had time during its passage to review 
the past, and follow my melancholy steps 
hitherward. I knew in my loneliness 
in Brooklyn, that there was light be- 
yond the clouds, but my soul was in dark- 
ness. When this new love took posses- 
sion of me, the dark cloud was rent, 
and the light of hope shone softly through. 
Since its acknowledgment, my Heaven 
has been without a cloud, and when I 
gaze into its azure depths, its light and 
clearness enter into my soul, and I feci 



201 



that the past has been all good, so good. 
I think the fact of our hearts having been 
allied by the peculiar tie of sympathy, 
from having borne the same sorrows, 
strengthens the tie that now binds us. 
I love to thinli that all these years we 
have been preparing for each other, that 
in all that long, desolate time, we were 
being fitted for this happiness. You 
shrink, dear Familiar, from the thought 
that the purest of loves is born of sorrow, 
and nurtured with tears, but this is only 
here, not there, where "' love is made per- 
fect." 

Monday, April 13th. We have given 
ourselves diligently to Penelope's web to- 
day, in the absence of Cousin Harry, 
Kate, and Auntie, who have gone for a 
two-days expedition to the city, on Festi- 
val errands bound. With fingers still 
busy, we had a pleasant tongue race this 
evening over rules of life — mottoes and 
watchwords — closing with each announc- 
ing enthusiastically, his or her favorite 
mot or example. I cannot fill up the de- 
tail, only give the bare outline. 

The Sable Knight chose Medea, who 
when asked, " Husband, country, wealth, 
all gone, What remains ?" replied, " Me- 
dea super est,^'' Medea remains. 

Mr. Carlton— Sir Robert Wilson. " Ko 
one hates the sea and danger more than I 
do, but I fear more not to do my duty to 
the utmost." 

Theodora— Marie Antoinette. " I count 



' upon ray own courage, rather than upon 
j the course of events." 

Constance — The brave Burgomaster of 
I Antwerp, who, when the extremity of 
the famine was represented to him, said, 
I " I have sworn to defend the city, but if 
I my death can help ye, here is my body ; I 
j cut it in pieces, and share it among ye, 
as far as it will go." 

Mr. G-raham — Fabricius, pointing to 
the sun at noon, and saying, "You may 
turn that, but not Fabricius from his 
course." 

Mr. Montague — Diogones going to the 
Olympic Games, overtaken with fever, 
laying himself down in the road, saying, 
''This night I will either conquer, or be 
conquered." 

Alice — The Confessor's " Cross in heart, 
and heart in Cross." 

I — my favorite Marguerite of Austria. 
"In fortune or misfortune, there shall be 
one woman strong of heart." 

April 14th, Tuesday. The dear ones 
have returned. Guests have arrived, and 
we have reveled in gifts, and white 
favors. 

April 1.5. This morning we made a 
joyful pilgrimage to the shrine where 
•'most we love to congregate." The 
chambers each wearing their own pecu- 
liar color, shone forth in all the exquisite 
beauty of fresh cretonnes, and to add to 
the pretty " flower surprises" springing 
up at every step of the way, the Best 
one had matched the cretonne of my 



202 



boudoir, and had it upholstered like 
AuQtie's, Si) that its tufCed surface is like 
a b-id of dovvQ, and evea the doors are cov- 
ered with it. We proaouaced each room 
perfect, and the library, which was our 
especial object this morning, is, as it 
should be, the "Olympus of the Estab- 
lishment." Mr. Mortimer has been busy 
for days arranging it. Books and a few 
paintiQgs,and busts, being the only house- 
hold gods removed, from the ''Castle 
Beautiful" of his youth. Some of the 
heads are so exquisite, as to remind me of 
St. Chrysostom's saying concerning Phid- 
ias' images: "If any man be sickly, 
troubled in mind, or that cannot sleep for 
grief, and shall but stand over against 
one of Phidias' images, he will forget all 
care, or whatsoever else may molest him, 
in an instant." Upon the door of the 
library, illuminated by his own hand, are 
placed the words of Heinsius, keeper of 
the Leyden Library : "I no sooner come 
into my library, but I bolt the door to me, 
excluding lust, ambition, avarice, and all 
such vices, whose nurse is idleness, the 
mother of ignorance, and melancholy 
herself, and in the very lap of eternity, 
amongst so many divine souls, I take 
my seat with so lofty a spirit and sweet 
content, that I pity all our great ones, 
and rich men that know not this hap- 
piness." And over the classical book- 
c se is insci-ibad, " When I read these, 
methinks I am beyond all human fortunes, 
on the top of the "iiill above mortality." 



Before I went out, Alice had shyly 
shown m3 a note, addressed to Mr. Carl- 
ton, containing the lines, 

'' Dost ask, (my dear,) what service I will have ? 

To loYG me day and iii^lit is all I crave, 

To dream on me, to exp-^er, to think on me, 

Depend and hope, still covet me to see, 

Deli<2:ht thyself in me, be wholly mine. 

For know, my love, that I am wholly thine." 

So I was not surprised, when on our 
return, in the presence of all, they ac- 
knowledged themselves bound under the 
witchcrafo of love, and we had as merry a 
bethrothal, as was ever celebrated, since 
"the morning stars sang together." 
Each pouring their own joy in over-flow- 
ing measure over them, in the Felidter 
Nuptis, God give them joy together, which 
we sang in full chorus, as a prelude to to- 
morrow's epithalamium, the key-note of 
which, Cousin Harry sounded in his reci- 
tation over us all, of "Let the Muses sing, 
the graces dance, not at their weddings 
only, but all their days long, and so cou- 
ple their hearts, that no i:lvSomeness, or 
anger ever befall them, l^it him never call 
her other name than my joy, my light, or 
she call him otherwise than sweetheart. 
To this happiness of theirs, let not old 
age, any whit detract, but as their years, 
so let their mutual love an^l comfort in- 
crease." 

At the close of the evening it was pro- 
posed that each of the fair ones, should 
recite a favorite poem, in harmony with 
the occasion, that our last evening to- 



203 



gether, might end in song, and that the 
gentlemen should rhyme the first evening 
of the new life, as an auspicious prelude, 
to the new symphony. Auntie recited : 

Give me thy blessincr, Mither, 

For I must now away, 
To meet my bonny Agnes, Mither, 

Upon her bridal day. 
I've luved her lona; and weel, Mither, 

And thou my luve hast known. 
Then lay thy hand upon me, Mither, 

And bless thy kneeling son. 

Ah ! "Willie, how my heart o'erflows. 

When thus I hear thee speak. 
My rears are glistenins: on thy hair, 

And dropping on thy cheek. 
And oh ! how memory calls up now. 

The days of auld lang syne. 
When I a winsome bride first called. 

Thy sainted Father mine. 

Ye look sae like him, Willie, dear, 

Ye look sae like him now. 
Ye hae the same dark, tender e'en, 

The same broad, noble brow. 
And sic, a smile was on his face. 

When he that morning came, 
To bring awa, as ye maun do, 

A lassie to his hame. 

Puir child! her heart is beating now. 

As it never beat before, 
Puir child ! I ken her haz?l e'en, 

Wi' tears are rinniu' o'er. 
She luves thee, Willie, but she feels. 

To wed's a solemn thing, — 
I weel remember how I felt. 

When iGoking on the ring. 



weel remember, too, the hour. 

When wi' a heavy sigh, 
I turn'd a wife sae young and sad, 

To bid them a' good bye. 
The tears were gushing then, I know, 

For I luved my kindred weel, 
And though my ain was by my side, 

I could na' help but feel. 

But then, how kind he took my hand. 

And gently whispered, " Come." 
The same sofc star shines o'er my cot, 

That shines above thy home 1 
And, Willie, often since he's dead, 

I've watched that distant star, 
And thought I saw his gentle face. 

Smile in it from afar. 

We luved ilk Ither weel, Willie, 

We luved ilk other lansr, 
Ah ! me 1 how happy was the heart, 

That trilled the evening sang. 
We luved ilk ither, Willie, right, 

And may God grant it so, 
That ye maun luve, as we twa luved, 

In days lang, lang ago. 

Oh ! fondly cherish her, Willie, 

She is sae young and fair. 
She has not known a single cloud, 

Or felt a single care. 
Then, if a cauld warld's storm should come, 

Thy way to overcast — 
Oh ! ever stand (thou art a man), 

Between her, and the blast. 

When first I knew a Mither's pride, 

'Twas when I gazed on thee ; 
And when my ither flowers died, 

Thy smile was left to me. 



204 



And I can scarce believe it true, 

So late thy life bec:an , 
The playful bairn 1 fondled then. 

Stands by me now a man. 

Then tell thy bonnie bride, Willie, 

She has my first born son ; 
I tak' the darling from my arms, 

And gie him to her own. 
Oh ! she will cherish thee, Willie ; 

For when I maun depart, 
She, only she, will then be left, 

To fill thy lonely heart. 

I dinna fear to die, Willie, 

I ever wished to gana:, 
The soft, green mound in yon kirk yard, 

Has lanelj'^ been too lang-, 
And I would lay me thei-o, Willie, 

And a' death's terrors brave. 
Beside the heart sae leal and true. 

If 'tis within the grave. 

Then gang- awa' my blessed bairn, 

And bring thy gentle dove, 
And dinna frown, if a' should greet, 

To part wi' her they luve. 
But if a tear fill up her e'e. 

Then whisper as they part. 
There's room for th^e at Mither's hearth. 

There's room in Mither's heart. 

And may the God that reigns above, 

And sees ye a' the while, 
Look down upon your pliirhted troth. 

And bless ye wi' His smile ; 
And may'st thou ne'er forget, Willie, 

In a' thy future life, 
To serve the Power that gave to thee. 

Thy kind and guileless wife. 



Cousin Kate : 

THE RETROSPECT. 
Brj S. G. Mayo. 

Yes, we are very old, Johnny, 

Our locks are white and thin. 
We've walked together hand in hand, 

Full three-score years and ten. 
We have no worldly gear, Johnny, 

Our hearth is dim and cold ; 
We feel a stiffness in our limbs. 

We feel that we are old. 

But let us warm our hearts, Johnny, 

At the old, burniug shrines. 
And open up a store of gold. 

From memory's wondrous mines ; 
Let's talk of good old times, Johnny, 

When life and love were young, 
And gay as birds our bounding hearts, 

Within our bosoms sung. 

I am tbinVing of the glen, Johnny, 

And the little gushin' brook. 
Of the birds upon the hazel copse. 

And violets in the nook. 
I am thinking how we met, Johnny, 

Upon the little bridge ; 
You had a garland on your arm. 

Of flag flowers and of sedge. 

You placed it in my hand, Johnny, 

And held my hand in yours. 
You only thought of that, Johnny, 

But talked about the flowers. 
We lingered long alone, Johnny, 

Above that shaded stream, 
We stood as though we were entranced. 

In some delicious dream. 



205 



It was not all a dream, Johnny, 

The love we thouocht of then, 
For it has been our life and light, 

For three-score years and ten. 
But ah ! we dared not speak it. 

Though it lit our cheeks and eyes, 
So we talked about the news, Johnny, 

The weather and the skies. 

At last I said, " Good-night," Johnny, 

And turned to cross the bridge, 
Still holding in my trembling hand 

The pretty wreath of sedge. 
But you came on behind, Johnny, 

And drew my arm in yours, 
And said, ** You must not go alone, 

Across the barren moors." 

Oh ! had they been all flowers, Johnny, 

And full of singing birds. 
They could not have seemed fairer, 

Than when listening to those words I 
The new moon shone above, Johnny, 

The sun was nearly set, 
The grass that crisped beneath our feet. 

The dew had slightly wet. 

One Robin, late abroad, Johnny, 

Was winging to its nest ; 
I seem to see it, now, Johnny, 

The sunshine on its breast. 
You put your arm around me, 

You clasped my hand in yours. 
You said, " So let me guard you 

Across these lonely moors." 

At length we reached the field, Johnny, 

In sight of Father's door ; 
We felt that we must part here ; 

Our eyes were running o'er. 



You saw the tears in mine, Johnny, 

I saw the tears in yours ; 
'' You've been a faithful guard," Johnny, 

I said, " across the moors." 

Then you broke forth in a gush, Johnny, 

Of pure and honest love, 
While the moon looked down upon you 

From her holy throne above. 
And you said, " We need a guide, Ellen, 

To lead us o'er life's moors ; 
I've chosen you for mine, Ellen, 

Oh would that I were yours 1" 

We parted with a kiss, Johnny, 

The first but not the last, 
I feel the rapture of it yet. 

Though three-score years have passed I 
And you kissed my golden curls, Johnny, 

That now are silvery gray, 
And whispered, '* We are one, Ellen, 

Until our dying day 1" 

That dying day is near, Johnny, 

But we are not dismayed ; 
We have but one dark moor to cross, 

Why need we be afraid ? 
We've had a hard life's row, Johnny, 

But the shore is near at hand ; 
O, sweet the rest that waits us now. 

In Love's own Holy Land 1 

Cheer up, and take thy staff, Johnny, 

The good, stout staff of Faith, 
It will aid thy trembling footsteps, 

Adown the vale of Death. 
We're very poor and cold, Johnny, 

But God is rich in love ; 
He'll give us food and raiment. 

In His blessed House above. 



206 



Theodora : 

THE LOOM OF LIFE. 
By H. W. Farker. 

I stood within a busy room, 

Where many carpet-weavers were, 
And each did ply a lofty loom, 

With ceaseless and with noisy stir, 
Warp and roller, spool and reel, — 

It was a curious scene to view, 
While slow revolved each groaning wheel, 

And fast the clashing shuttles liew. 

Unnumbered threads of brilliant dyes, 

From beam to beam all closely drawn, 
Seemed dipt in hues of sunset skies, 

Or steeped in tints of rosy dawn, — 
As if a thousand rainbows bright. 

Had been unraveled, ray by ray, 
And each prismatic beam of light. 

Was woven in the fabric gay. 

Quick '.—Quick ! — The clicking shuttles flew. 

And slowly up the web was rolled. 
Sprinkled with purple, red and blue. 

And strewed with stars of yellow gold. 
The quaint device came forth so true, 

It seemed a work of magic power, 
As if by force of Nature grew, 

Each imaged leaf and pictured flower I 

I sat within a silent room. 

While evening shadows deepened round, 
And thought that life was like a loom. 

With many colored tissues wound, — 
Our souls the warp, and thought a thread, 

That since our being first began. 
Backward and forth has ever sped, 

Shot by the busy weaver — man ! 



And all events of changing years, 
That lend their colors to our life, 

Though oft their memory disappears, 
Amid our pleasures and our strife, 

Are added fibres to the warp. 
And here and there they will be seen, 

Dyed deep in joy or sorrows sharp — 



The loves and hopes of youthful hours, 

Though buried in oblivion deep. 
Like hidden threads in woven flower"^, 

Upon the web will start from sleep; 
And one loved face we sometimes find. 

Pictured there with memories rife, 
A part of that mysterious mind, 

Which forms the endless warp of life ! 

Still hour by hour the tissue grows, 

(Memory is its well-known name,) 
Stained bright with joys, or dark with woes, 

The pattern never twice the same I 
For its confused and mingled gleams. 

Display so little care or plan, 
In heedless sport the shuttle seems 

Thrown by the maddened weaver — man ! 

And if our conscious waking thought, 
Weaves out so few and worthless ends, 

Much more a tangled woof is wrought, 
When dream with dream commingling blends 

The toilsome scenes of weary days, 
By night lived*o'er, at morn we see 

Made monstrous in a thousand ways, 
Like fabled shapes in tapestry ! 

And as the weaver's varied braid, 

When turned, a double wonder shows, 

The lights all changed to sombre shade, 
While what was dim then warmly glows. 



207 



So that which now we think most bright, 
And all we dream most dark and cold, 

Will seem inverted to our sight. 
When we our inner life behold ! 



For thouirht ends not, — it reaches on, 

Throu£rh every change of world or clime. 
While of itself will ever run 

The restless flying shuttle — time ! 
And when the deep-imprinted soul 

Shall burst the chambers of the tomb. 
Eternity will forth unroll 

The work of this, our wondrous Loom, 



Constance : 

LOVE, HONOR AND OBEY. 

Promise to Love ! Why, woman thinkf 
To love a privilege, not a task ! 

If thou wilt truly take my heart, 
And keep it, this is all 1 ask. 

Honor thee ! Yes, if thou will live 

A life of truth and purity ; 
When I have seen thy worthiness, 

I cannot choose but honor thee. 



Obey ! W^hen I have fully learned 
Each want and wish to understand, 

I'll learn the wisdom to obey. 

If thou hast wisdom to command. 



So, if I fail to live with thee, 
In duty, love, and lowliness, 

'Tis Nature's fault, or thine, or both 
The greater must control the less. 



Alice : 



THE WIDOAV'S UEPROOF. 

Xay ! do I hear your words aright, 

And can it surely be, 
That you can speak again of luve, 

Anithcr luve to me ! 
Oh ! Donald ! Donald ! I have thought 

Tou were a better friend, 
Than thus the heart of ane sae true 

Wr words like these to rend. 

Can you speak thus, when here you ken. 

Beneath this very sky. 
We pledged our faithful hearts, in words 

The Angels heard on high. 
Can you, wha ken'd my ain lang syne, 

Wha ken'd the gentle dead, 
Believe that when his life-strings burst, 

My luve should then have fled ? 

Because nae mair we fondly meet. 

As once we fondly met, 
And the starry curtain's drawn between, 

Can I go and forget ? 
Can I leave his grassy mound, Donald, 

Alone for ever mair. 
With the violet and the buttercuo. 

The only watchers there ? 

How oft at eve beneath this sky, 
I've sung when he was nigh, 

Or from his bosom watch'd the orbs, 
Shine out from yon blue sky ! 

How oft we marked the sunset clouds, 
Grow dimmer and mair dim ! 

Oh ! could I gaze wi' you on scenes, 

I gaaed on ance Avi' him ? 



208 



What ! do you say that I should fly, 

To ither scenes mair glad ; 
Where nought should meet my e'en again 

That ever made me sad ? 
I'm ganging soon mysel, Donald, 

I'm ganging soon I feel ; 
But the country I shall visit, Donald, 

Is the blest land o' the leal 1 

Oh ! cauld, cauld is the grave, Donald, 

Where lowly lies my pride. 
But caulder, caulder is the world, 

Since my poor Duncan died ! 
Its storms are blawing round my heart, 

And beating round my brow ; 
Oh ! would this trembling form were laid, 

Beside that dear one's now ! 

Ah ! do you say that I am fair. 

Too fair a thing to flee, 
That the lily's light is on my brow, 

And a starbeam in my e'e? 
Oh ! I am glad to hear you say 

My beauty is not fled, 
For it only makes me long the more. 

To lie beside the dead ! 

He went down in his pride, Donald, 

Wi' that blue, tender e'en, 
As brightly glad as when it turned. 

First turned its light on me; 
He went down in his pride, Donald, 

And I would join him there. 
Ere time has touched the brow he luved, 

Or blanched the golden hair. 

He comes to me at night, Donald, 

He comes in dreams of bliss, 
For the God who took him kens my heart 

Would break if not for this ; 



He comes to me at night, Donald, 

And oh ! he looks sae bright, 
That I can see he has been bathed, 

In heaven's eternal light ! 

And then he faulds me in his arms. 

And holds me to his heart. 
And tells me of that far, far hame. 

Where we never masr shall part ; 
He sometimes wakes me wi' the strain. 

He there sae sweetly sings, 
And oh I the sangs he must have learned, 

While angels swept the strings. 

I rise up in the morn, Donald, 

To myloneliaess again, 
And through the lang, lang night, Donald, 

My thoughts are with my ain ; 
And I watch the settin' sun, Donald, 

Sink down in yon broad wave. 
But then I turn to see, Donald, 

Its beams upon his grave. 

Then can I list to you, Donald ? 

Then can I list to you ? 
My heart is a' anither's, Donald, 

I cannot gie it thee; 
The shadow of my husband still 

Is round me every-where. 
And the luve that's a' his own, Donald, 

You must not ask to share. 



Then gang, and speak nae sae, again. 

For I would nae gie my dead. 
For the proudest laird alive, that 

Wooed me in tears to wed — 
Oh ! Duncan ! Duncan 1 canst thou hear, 

Thy fearfu' hearted wife. 
Then ask thy God to grant to her 

Wi' thee eternal life. 



209 



I, Rebecca, from the depths of my heart. 



A woman's question. — Miss Proctor. 

Before I give my fate to thee, 

Or place my hand in thine, 
Before I let thy future give 

Color and form to mine, 
Before I peril all for iheej question thy 

Soul to-night for me ? 

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel, 

A shadow of regret ; 
Is there one link within the past, 

That holds thy spirit yet ? 
Or is thy faith as clear and free as that 

Which I can pledge to thee ? 

Dees there within thy dimmest dreams, 

A possible future shine. 
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, 

Untouched, unshared by mine? 
If so, at any pain or cost, oh 1 tell me 

Before all is lost. 

Look deeper still, if thou canst feel 

Within thy inmost soul, 
That thou hast held a. portion back. 

While I have staked the whole ; 
Let no false pity spare the blow, but in 

True mercy tell me so. 

Is there within thy heart a need 

That mine cannot fulfill 1 
One chord that any other hand 

Could better wake or still ? 
Speak now, lest in some future day 

My whole life wither and decay. 



Lives there within thy nature hid 

The demon-spirit change, 
Shedding a passing glory still 

On all things new and strange ? 
It may not be thy fault alone — but 

Shield my heart against thy own. 

Could'st thou withdraw thy hand one day, 

And answer to my claim, 
That/a/e, and that to-day's mistake, 

Not <AoM— had been to blame ? 
Some soothe their conscience thus ; but thou, 

Oh surely thou will warn me now. 

Nay, answer not — I dare not hear, 

The words would come too late, 
Yet I would spare thee all remorse, 

So, comfort thee, my fate : — 
Whatever on my heart, may fall. 

Remember I would risk it all : 

Thus ended our last noctes, our final 
effort to make the winter beautiful to each 
other. Some one says, the grand natural 
feature of northern life is a conquered 
winter, and this applies equally to life 
individually, to family life, and to that of 
human nature. 

I cannot recount the gifts that have 
come to me, with thoughts behind, and 
within them, from remembering friends, 
only , that Auntie stored, and arranged the 
Green House, as if she were writing a 
Poem ; and the Plants have such a visi- 
ble language, one can read them as a 
Book. The offering of the Beloved, is a 
full set of Amethysts, beautiful as the 
complete set of Opal, of the other day, 
shadowing forth the intermingling, crys- 



210 



talization of our tastes henceforth. To 
each of the double Quartette, he has 
given a seal Ring with their favorite cypher 
engraven on each, as a remembrance of 
this beautiful Winter, and a talisman for 
the future. In the olden time, stones en- 
graved under certain influences, were be- 
lieved to receive certain virtues, as though 
they had been endowed with life, in the 
process. These, seem instinct with vitality 
to us, and have surely received magical 
power over memory, and at a touch, or 
glance, can call up spirits. Our cypher 
evening was crowded out of my story, and 
left unchronicled in some way, dear Fa- 
miliar, and so I will tell you that on 
Theodora's there is an Owl ; on His Se- 
rene Highncss's, The Three Graces ; 
Constance's, a Sphinx; Her Saxon-haired 
Laddie, The Prophetic Kail ; Alice's, A 
Triton; Her "Object," A Flying Mer- 
cury ; On The Black Knight's, a Fixed 
Star ; On mine, a Sistrum. What hosts 
of beautiful memories, they have power to 
call up. Stones covering the entrance to 
a Valley of Diamonds. 

April 16th. Our Wedding Day ! God 
bless it ! The day set apart from all 
others, as the turning point of our exist- 
ence. On which all our Future hangs. 
Henceforth, never to be thought of lightly, 
or to be passed over, without hallowed 
ceremonials, never to be as other days, 
or remembered without a benediction. 
I wonder how we ever passed it in the 
Kalendar, or in life, without a heart thrill, 



such an electric power has its mention 
had over me since its naming. Perhaps 
some of the mysterious, indefinable feel- 
ings of which we have had consciousness 
in the Past, have had their rise in the 
conjunction of characters forming the 
16th of April. I know we can neither of 
us ever meet them again, without memo- 
ries, and emotions, surging from brain to 
heart, in an irresistible tide. As I write 
them, they seem like "solidified sun- 
shine," and the ceremony of to-night will 
embalm them in Amber forever. May 
each anniversary, gleam out more, and 
more blessedly, on our sight, and be as 
golden stairs, leading us onward, and up- 
ward, to the Great Marriage Supper. It 
is a pretty belief, held by the Swedenbor- 
gians that after death, husband and wife 
melt into one angel. Anything that sug- 
gests union, more perfect, and entire, 
comes commended to me with potent 
power. 

The sun shines out gloriously, and 
April has put on the sky of June, while 
the airs are soft as Araby the Blest, mak- 
ing Constance's rejoicing tones rinsj out 
harmoniously as she sings in every corner 
of the house, " Blessed is the Bride that 
the sun shines on," merrily twining the 
May, in our honor. Both houses are 
filled with May flowers. Never did I see 
them in such abundance, they seem to 
have laughed out for very happiness, 
nearly a month earlier than on the sea- 
coast. Some years they are very coy, and 



211 



we are obliged to search diligently to 
find them, calling up all our knowledge 
of their habits, and favorite hidiag-places, 
to gather a handful. Other years they 
seem to lay aside their nun-like ways, 
and blossom out deliciously, even to the 
very way-sides as they have this year. 
It has been said they never bloom away 
from the sea, but here they are in their 
sweetness, blooming out for us in almost 
unheard of luxuriance. Dost think some 
subtle, mesmeric influence has warmed 
the earth and made them bloom ? Per- 
haps the breath of love has swept over 
them, and drawn them out of their hid- 
ing-places. I shall charge my sworn Ar- 
butus Knight with using mystic spells, 
going into the woods, and whispering 
down in the leaf-mould his love. If he 
dropped down among their roots, the 
words he dropped in our smile bottle 
and hearts, I do not wonder they came 
forth at his call. Dost remember them, 
" My bride could scrcely be ' all my fancy 
painted her,' were she not wreathed 
with the May, with that indescribable, 
subtle breath, floating round her as a 
cloudlike drapery." I am glad he can 
say, I was wedded in the trailing Ar- 
butus time. Of all flowers I would have 
preferred these wild-wood beauties for 
my bridal decorations, ana would not 
exchange them for all the marriage bells, 
and crowns and harps of camelia's and 
exotics that ever florist wreathed. Miss 
Prestcott prettily suggests as a reason for 



the great love they inspire, that "per- 
haps they ran out to greet the winter 
worn mariners of Plymouth, and have 
been pursued by the love of their de- 
scendants ever since." She says truly, 
"Ko one ever likes them, whoever loves 
them at all, loves them entirely. Every 
year weariness and depression melt away, 
when atop of the season's crucible boil 
these little bubbles." The atmosphere 
is heavenly, pervaded by the delicious 
breath, of the heavenly breath'd flower, 
the sweetest of all scents. 

The only exotics are baskets of wonder- 
ful Lilies, ordered by the Best One, of 
different varieties and tribes. " Your 
good angels have come to the Wedding," 
he said, as he brought them in, remem-' 
bering the words in which I told my love 
for them. 

Yery dear also is a basket of Yiolets, 
sweet Yiolets, with their hearts filled 
with perfumed secrets, from the violet 
eyed, violet loving Alice, who gave them 
to me with the sweet German significa- 
tion attached, " The longer you live, the 
better I'll love you I" 

We are to be married at twelve, this 
morning in the little Chapel, and go at 
once to our own Dulce Domum, for the 
House Warming, and Wedding Dance. 

April 17th. Home ! sweet home I Un- 
der the bonnie-lee-roof, beneath our own 
roof-tree, I close this faithful record, dear 
Familiar, of the wooing, and the winning 
of my heart, that in the richly gilded. 



212 



tempting Liber Pamelicus, lying beside ! that shall far outlast the Illiad. The 
me, I may open the record of its keeping, j possessor of a greater Poem than Homer 
I trust it may not be so utterly devoid of am I." He looks over my shoulder as I 
romantic flavor, that you will not enjoy write, and in a tone of deep blessedness 
it, remembering that the Best one called adds, ''Every day adds new stanzas to 
me long ago. " My little Poem, writ by i the Poem. Writ by the same Immortal 
the Lord for me. An Immortal Poem, ' Hand I" 





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